


After

by flowthlder09



Category: 2PM (Band)
Genre: Explicit Language, Internalized Homophobia, Lots of it, M/M, Memory Loss, Misuse of dashes, Not Beta Read, Same-Sex Marriage, Sex in later chapters, TaecHo have potty mouths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-08 22:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 97,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4323564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowthlder09/pseuds/flowthlder09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junho wakes up with no recollection of the past five years of his life. His entire world is flip-flopped, and the one person he doesn't want to be there for him could be the only chance he has of being happy again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> If you can't tell, this is loosely based on Channing Tatum and Rachel McAdams' film _The Vow_. It was on TV and the feels just exploded. PS feel free to Tumble or Tweet links to this!

“...Taec?” 

Taecyeon jolts awake at the sound of Junho’s weak voice speaking his own name. One small eye peers back at him through dull irises, almost swollen shut with bruised purple flesh all around. Taecyeon’s heart thuds in his chest as he clambers off of the hospital sofa, almost staggering towards the bed and falling to his knees at Junho’s bedside. 

“Junho... Junho,” he reaches for Junho’s hand and grasps it in his own, receiving the lightest of squeezes in return. Tears burn in his eyes. His husband has come back to him. 

\-------

 _Pain_. It’s the only thing Junho knows for the first few seconds, and in the next ones it’s _light._ The nurse is drawing back the curtains, sun invading his room. 

“You’ve been out for two weeks,” she is saying, something tickling at the soles of his feet. Now she’s at the foot of his bed, adjusting the blankets. Her voice is fuzzy, fading in and out as she moves about the room, buzzing like a bee, her bright blue scrubs the only constant Junho understands. He blinks, following her as much as he can with his eyes, unable to turn his head without the numbing, _pounding_ returning full force. 

The nurse returns just at his side, and he clears his throat, hoping it’s loud enough to hear. She turns, her eyes wide, caring, and he sees her hands drop from an iv drip as she shuffles closer. 

“Why― what happened… to me?” he manages, the last word leaving his throat feeling scraped raw. He swallows and it hurts. Everything hurts. The nurse frowns, standing back to her full height. 

“You were attacked,” she says softly, as if she’s not supposed to. Junho knows― for some reason― that she’s not supposed to tell him. He just doesn’t know why he knows. She cocks her head to one side. “You don’t remember?”

“N-no,” he rasps, thirsty. A sudden, hot fear starts to brim within him. He was attacked? Was it on campus? Is that why― “Taecyeon,” he says, and her eyes light up with recognition, and she starts to turn around for the door. One of Junho’s hands tries to jut out to stop her, to tell her where to find him, but she’s already gone. His sigh mixes with his panting breaths, and he shuts his eyes, winded. 

Maybe Taecyeon hadn’t left. Maybe he was still in the hospital. Maybe he was with Junho during this… attack? Discomfort shoots through the muscles in his face and he grimaces, inducing even more pain. He steeled himself, focusing on the darkness behind his eyelids and sifting through the things he did know. _My name is Lee Junho. I am a medical student. I have two cats._

“Good morning.”

Junho opens his eyes at the familiar voice, wincing when the light stings. Taecyeon-- his TA from biochem. He tries to smile, but he’s not sure if it makes it. His whole head feels like one giant sore. Something squeaks, and he realizes Taecyeon is settling down in the rolling chair by his bed, looking over a chart. Junho wants to laugh― He sleeps for a fortnight and Taecyeon is still as overzealous as ever. He still has two years before his residency. 

“Your swelling has gone down,” he says, looking him over, clinically, before peering back at the chart. “Good progress from your surgery, then…” he speaks mostly to himself, his face lowered. There’s something different about him that Junho, in his haze can’t quite place. He blinks slowly, flicking his tongue out over dry lips, and then he sees it.  
“H-haircut,” he sounds out, waiting for Taecyeon’s eyes to meet his. He continues when they do, “you cut your hair.” The words come a bit more easily, but he still wants something for the pain. He shifts on the bed, wincing when an unpleasant tingle shoots through his neck, probably from sleeping for so long. Taecyeon drops the chart to his lap, and smiles, rolling his seat closer.

“Actually it’s grown a bit,” Taecyeon starts to lean down, and Junho starts to get confused, “do you like it, babe?” And something soft falls onto Junho’s forehead, which his brain takes too long to register as lips. Junho flinches backwards, the unpleasant tingle evolving into tiny needles in his neck and the back of his head. But fuck the pain. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Taec?” he shouts, his voice surprisingly strong. Taecyeon stares at him, wide-eyed, the chart in his hands falling to the floor. “Wh― Why―?” is all he can ask, sliding on his bed to put some distance between them. The door opens, then, and the nurse has returned. Junho is suddenly embarrassed to have to tell her what happened― that a man kissed him, called him―

“Dr. Ok, is everything alright?” she asks, turning to Taecyeon instead. _No!_ Junho wants to scream. But then her words filter in, slowly, starting to make sense. _Dr._ Ok? “I heard shouting,” the nurse peers between the two of them, but Taecyeon is watching Junho, his eyes unblinking, jaw set. He slowly rises to his feet. 

“Junho,” he says, his voice calm. Junho feels like punching him just for the kiss alone, but if he was about to pretend it didn’t happen― “what’s the last thing you remember?” Junho shuts his mouth, trying to remain calm. He thinks back― most of it is grey, fuzzy. But he can see some images, faces, places, smells. Something important was happening… 

“I have an exam. Medical ethics― on Friday,” it comes back like a slow-moving stream, trickling into his mind. Well, Friday before this whole thing happened. That exam was long over. The nurse freezes, and Taecyeon sighs audibly as her voice spills out, frantic. 

“I thought he― and then he asked for you, Doctor, so I―” she had turned back to peer at Taecyeon again, something in her face slightly panicked. Why did she keep calling him Doctor? 

“It’s ok, Sunmi.” Taecyeon swipes one hand across his forehead, then lowers it to press his thumb and forefinger into his eyes. He drops his hand and turns to peer down at her. “Can you get the neurologist, please?” She nods, and with one last look Junho’s way, disappears through the door once more. Junho doesn’t want to be left alone with Taecyeon-- he always got weird vibes from him, but he hadn’t known just what. Now-- now he kind of understood. 

Taecyeon’s eyes find his face and Junho shuts his eyes, groaning― in pain, in confusion, in irritation, in disgust― it’s everything he feels and then some. The sound of footsteps severs the awkward silence, and Junho opens his eyes to see an older man coming in, followed by the nurse― Sunmi― who promptly shuts the door, leaving Junho alone with the neurologist and Taecyeon. Why is he still here?

Before Junho can ask, the neurologist comes forward with a friendly smile. He leans down for the dials on Junho’s bed and adjusts it, so with a drawn out mechanical whir Junho finds himself sitting upright. He grasps the pitcher on the bedside table and pours some water into one of the plastic cups, and hands it to Junho. Junho takes it like a dying, starving man in the desert, bringing it to his lips and sipping. He knows enough medicine to pace himself, not to overdo it so soon. 

“Hello, Junho. I’m Dr. Choi. It’s nice to see you up,” he settles into the chair Taecyeon had used, clasping his hands in his lap. Taecyeon moves to the far wall where Junho can still see him, his arms crossed over his chest and his face grave. “I want to ask you a few questions.”

“Ok,” Junho says, his parched throat much looser. Dr. Choi furrows his eyebrows. 

“What is the last thing you remember?”

“My exam. I was studying for my Medical Ethics exam,” he mutters, feeling like a broken record. “I’m in medical school.” Dr. Choi nods, and continues.

“Where were you?”

“My apartment.”

Dr. Choi turns, looks at Taecyeon over his shoulder, who is bone stiff, looking like he’s barely breathing. “And do you know this man?” Junho flicks his eyes in Taecyeon’s direction, unable to hide the contempt. The humiliation. He nods. “Who is he?”

“Ok Taecyeon. One of the TA’s for my class. He’s assigned to me and a few other students.” Junho lowers his gaze from Dr. Choi’s face and to his cup, wondering if he should mention what Taecyeon did when they were alone. Couldn’t he call the police? The wheels on Dr. Choi’s chair sound on the floor. Junho peers back up to meet his eyes. 

“Junho, you suffered a severe head trauma two weeks ago tonight. Do you remember that?” Junho frowns and shakes his head. He can’t even imagine anything like that ever happening to him. “You were at a gas station. You tried to stop a robbery, but one of the men struck you. Do you remember any of that?” 

Robbery? Gas station? Junho’s hand trembles around his cup, and he shakes his head once again. The doctor purses his lips, looking disappointed, but unsurprised. “Junho,” he reaches up to scratch at his chin, “what I’m about to say may be very difficult for you to accept, but I need you to remain calm, alright?” Junho narrows his eyes, his breaths starting to pick up contrary to the doctor’s warning. He drinks more water and nods. 

“Alright.”

After a beat, Dr. Choi levels him with a serious expression. “You’re suffering from moderate amnesia as a result of your attack. You’re no longer a medical student. You haven’t been, for almost five years.” Junho feels his heart dropping into his stomach. _No no no no._ Dr. Choi’s voice starts to sound warped, like it’s coming through a narrow tunnel. The edges of his vision are darkening. 

“Dr. Ok― Taecyeon― is a second year resident at this hospital.” Junho’s chest is rising and falling quickly beneath his gown, and his eyes travel to Taecyeon in his corner once again, where he is still staring, motionless as a statue. Junho starts to shake his head slowly, anticipating the next part of this terrible, terrible diagnosis.

“You’re married,” Dr. Choi says, and Junho’s palm squeezes around his cup, crunching the sides concave, water running over his hand. 

“To who.” his voice comes out flat, his heart about to burst through his ribcage, and _finally_ Taecyeon speaks. 

“To me.”  
\-----------

“So, do I have a job?” Junho asks, pulling a card from the scattered deck serving as the ‘pond’ in their game. Another 8. Taecyeon nods, moving some of his cards around, probably grouping like ones together. 

“You’re a junior developer. Software. You hated medical school.” Junho snorts. Jeez, maybe they were married after all. He shudders just at the thought. “Fives?” Taecyeon asks, looking hopeful. 

“Go fish,” Junho mumbles, watching Taecyeon draw. His brows quirk up over his glasses, and he pulls four cards from his hand and sets them down. A book of jacks. Junho grimaces, looking down to his side where he only has one book of twos to Taecyeon’s three. It’s been another week since Junho woke up and his life crashed around him― since he learned he never became a doctor like his mother wanted and that― his eyes flit over Taecyeon’s face― he married his TA. A guy. Like his mother certainly did not want. 

“I can’t believe my mother watched me marry a man,” he comments, about to ask Taecyeon for queens― ironically― when the latter’s eyes shoot up to his own. Junho drops his chin, and Taecyeon doesn’t look away. His eyes harden, and Junho knows he doesn’t have to ask, but he does. “She didn’t come?” Taecyeon shakes his head, still maintaining their eye contact. Junho knows the rest― if his mother wasn’t there, none of his family was. He clears his throat, feeling the unsteadiness in it, refusing to let Taecyeon hear it. 

“Do we talk?” his voice is stern― like the idea of not speaking to his mother doesn’t bother him, doesn’t feel like someone’s cutting him up from the inside. He likes it. It’s good enough. 

“Not since you told her about me.” Five years ago, then.

Junho chuckles dryly, dropping his eyes to look at his cards, unseeing. The red and black numbers and letters bleed together, the shapes of each suit morph into wet teary blobs.

“I don’t want to play anymore.” Junho says, chucking his cards down on the blankets. Taecyeon doesn’t say anything else, he just stands and moves the rolling bed table from over his legs and to the side, out of the way. His back is turned, and Junho seizes the opportunity to wipe at his eyes with balled fists. What the fuck has he become? Throwing away his family for this? 

Taecyeon rubs his hands together, his eyes darting around the room uncertainly as he drops back into the metal rolling chair. He’s dressed for work today― unlike the first day― in a blue collared shirt and black slacks, his white doctor’s coat over them. Junho snorts again.

“I must really love you,” Junho remarks, not looking Taecyeon’s way. They both know it’s an insult. The chair bobs up and down audibly under Taecyeon’s weight, but he remains silent. Junho tosses his head back, peering up at the ceiling. He tries to envision a world where he loves the man sitting next to him― where the idea of loving him isn’t so strange. He thinks of how he felt in his most recent memory of Taecyeon― sitting in the campus library with him, poring over medical diagrams, Taec trying to convey chemical reactions in the body and Junho trying to understand them. The feeling is a warm, bright yellow when he closes his eyes. It’s nice― but it certainly isn’t love. 

“I have to head back soon,” Taecyeon pauses, “do you need anything?” He pushes his long white coat back and slips his hands into his trouser pockets, his eyes visibly skimming Junho’s whole frame. Junho tenses under the scrutiny, and he mentally coaxes himself into believing the look was purely medical. He needs it to be. 

“No. Go.” Junho exhales, settling back against his pillow. It’s almost dinner time, his last one in the hospital. 

“Alright,” Taecyeon says softly. “I’ll be back in the morning to take you home.”  
\-----  
Junho thought the worst part was Dr. Choi pulling out the last of the stitches in his head, but no. It’s definitely not. He hears Taecyeon close the door of their apartment behind them, a bag hitting the floor. A breath comes up and stuffs itself into the top of his lungs, almost choking him up. His fingers skim over the light gray paint on the walls, the smooth black leather on the sofa set, and his eyes touch what his hands cannot: the deep charcoal rug on the living room floor, the lush hardwood beneath his feet. 

It smells like a home― smells lived in even though neither of them have been here for the last 28 days. He makes his way down a spacious, well-lit corridor and into a kitchen. Everything looks brand new. Clean. Expensive. He ambles over to the fridge and it’s stocked with food and beer. He smiles when he sees tubs of ice cream in the freezer― different brands, different flavors. He lives here, all right. He opens one door and finds a bedroom, plainly furnished, no pictures on the walls, the closet door ajar and showing empty contents. 

“Guest room,” Taecyeon says from behind him. Junho nods. He’s almost forgotten Taecyeon is here, quiet as he is. He shuts the guest room door and moves down the hall. A bathroom― huge, with a nice glass shower and a sink that looks like it belongs in a hotel. Another door, and as soon as it’s open he knows what it is. He knows his own work anywhere. 

A huge bed sits center to the far wall, and he makes for it, hand outstretched to touch the decadent-looking comforter pulled taut over the well-made bed. The gold-tinted fabric is as soft beneath his hands as it looks. He smiles to himself, his gaze finding the picture frames on the bedside table. He recognizes himself, and Taecyeon, but he tears his eyes away. He’s not ready for that yet. 

He sighs, turning and walking to the closet. It’s a room upon itself― four complete walls of shelves with a large wooden chest in the center where there are rows of shoes on one side, socks and other accessories on another, hats on top. 

“Yeah, this is my house,” he murmurs, leafing through the designer clothes in his size hanging on one rack. He hears a soft laugh behind him, and he turns to see Taecyeon leaning against the closet door with pocketed hands. 

“Everything in here is yours. I think I have… a drawer.” Junho laughs, turning back to peer at Taecyeon. Taecyeon is still watching him, a smile spreading slowly on his face. Junho averts his gaze, stepping away from the clothes and going to the shoes instead. He spies a really nice pair of ankle boots― beige, expensive-looking. “Those are yours,” Taecyeon lets him know, as if he needed him to. Junho sets a hand on one hip and reaches up to rub the other across the nape of his neck. He has a whole life here that he doesn’t remember. He sighs, following Taecyeon out of the closet.

“You get some rest,” Taecyeon says, peering around the bedroom― his bedroom, which makes Junho feel slightly guilty. “I’ll order some dinner.” His lips twitch in a closed-mouth smile just before he turns away and leaves. Junho sighs, dropping his face into his hands for a second and then plopping down onto the bed. The edges of the picture frames jut out in his periphery, screaming at him to look at them, but he doesn’t know if he can face a self he doesn’t remember. No. He knows he can’t.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junho explores a little.

Taecyeon answers on the second ring. “Junho? Are you alright?”

“Wh-” Junho pauses at Taecyeon’s question, guilty at the small note of concern in his voice. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says quickly, pulling a tub of vanilla ice cream from the freezer. “Where do I keep the ice cream cones?” A beat of silence passes, and then Taecyeon lets out a staticky sigh. 

“Uh, check the cabinet above the stove.” 

Junho sets the ice cream down, puts his phone on speaker and leaves it on the island counter, and moves toward said cabinet. He pulls it open and, “Ah ha!” takes down the box of waffle cones he finds. 

“Was that all?” Taecyeon’s disembodied voice asks. 

“Yep. See you later,” Junho hits ‘end’ and tears open the box, the packaging crinkling as he digs a cone from its recesses. He licks his lips as he rolls two perfectly round scoops of creamy vanilla and sets them into his cone, mashing the top one down gently so his masterpiece is snug inside its flaky cradle. He puts the top back on the tub and puts it back in the freezer, swiping his tongue over his sweet, icy treat. 

He browses the DVD collection on the shelf beneath the huge mounted flatscreen and watches the first season of some show where a city gets overrun by zombies. He forgets the title by the time the main character cop gets reunited with his wife and son while she’s been living in a camp with other survivors and banging his best friend. He gets in a good solid two hours of PS4-- yeah, _4_ \-- because five years made a hell of a difference when it came to video games. 

He surfs around on his souped up laptop and downloads and plays more games until his hands start to cramp and he gets bored. He wanders off the sofa, digging his hands in the pockets of his super soft, super comfy sweatpants and into the bedroom. _His and Taecyeon’s room_ , his mind screams at him. It looks bigger during the day. The natural light coming from the windows set off the earthy hues in the plush champagne carpet, the golden threads woven in the comforters and the beige pillows.

He turns to look at the sturdy-looking white chair just at the base of one massive window a few paces from the bed. It looks like it belongs in a psychiatrist’s office, long enough for someone Taecyeon’s size to lie down on comfortably. He knows chairs like these have a name but he can’t think of what it is. He just suffered from brain trauma, after all. His gaze meanders to the nightstand, the photos sitting on top. He takes a breath, forcing his feet to carry him towards it. He sits at the edge of the bed and shuts his eyes, reaching blindly to where he knows the frames are until his fingers grasp a hard edge. 

He opens one eye and takes a peek. “Oh,” he says out loud, all the air leaving his lungs in that tiny word. Taecyeon stares back at him-- the Taecyeon he recognizes, with the ugly square glasses and the long frumpy hair. It’s pulled back in a messy ponytail and he’s smiling. And Junho’s chest tightens, because-- because they are _both_ smiling. They’re sitting side by side in a restaurant booth, Taecyeon’s arm is slung over his shoulders and Junho can just make out the tips of his own fingers down at Taecyeon’s side, clasping where his ribs are. 

Junho’s eyes lock on his own face and the image blurs, a sharp pain spikes through his head and his hands tremble, his breath freezes in his throat. He can’t-- His eyes burn and before he thinks about it he’s putting the picture far, far out of reach with shaky hands. It rattles atop the table and he tears his hand away and forces it over his mouth, hunching his shoulders and gasping against his palm. 

It happened. He fell for a guy, after years of pushing it down. Years of hating it and hating himself, _praying_ that he could chalk it up to impulses when he liked a man’s body, that he could blame loneliness when his eyes lingered on an unshaven cheek, when they traversed the steep, downward slope from a man’s wide shoulders to his narrow hips. Prayer didn’t save him. Hate didn’t save him. He lost his mother, he lost his family. He lost everything. 

He bites his lip, sniffling back the sob almost choking its way into his throat and letting it escape as a weary exhale. He turns and pulls the drawer open to look for more photos, scooting forward on the bed to peer inside-- this time he definitely stops breathing. A long, slim clear bottle rolls towards his hands and he just catches the words below the flowery label-- _personal lubricant_. The transparent thick oil inside slides along the bottom side of the bottle, nearly empty. Junho slams the drawer shut. _Insult, injury_ , he thinks to himself, and goes to play more video games. 

\----------

The lock in the apartment door clicks loudly a little after 10 P.M. and Junho hits pause on his show-- this one, everyone from different regions of a Middle Earth-like world are competing for a seat on a really, really ugly throne-- to see Taecyeon trudge inside. He stops in the doorway, surprise mingling with the tiredness furrowing his brow as he pushes the door shut behind him. 

“Hey,” he says, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it up. Junho lifts one hand in a tiny wave. Something pangs, hard, in his chest at the sight of Taecyeon’s face and he thinks of the photo and swallows, but he’s unable to look away from him. Taecyeon toes out of his shoes and makes his way over on socked feet. “ _Borderlands 2_?” He chuckles and the hollowness of the sound deepens Junho’s frown. Taecyeon doesn’t seem to notice, leaning forward and swiping the game’s case from the coffee table and glancing at the back. 

Junho opens his mouth to speak, and the words collapse back down his throat, fade to black in his mind. He has no idea what he can say. _I’m sorry I don’t remember you, or what we had_ sounds right, but it dissolves because _what_ did _they have?_ A part of him wants to know just what it was that happened, what it was that Taecyeon did and was to him that made him throw away his family, his upbringing, and his fear. He seals his lips again, shoving his chin down in a nod. 

“Did you have enough to eat?” Taecyeon asks, tossing the plastic case back down and moving away, disappearing behind the sofa where Junho can’t see him and can only hear his soft footfalls on the wooden floor, growing fainter as he progresses towards the kitchen. 

“Yeah,” Junho calls, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat, folding one knee and turning to peer over the back of the couch to stare at the hallway leading to the kitchen. “I ordered a pizza,” he says uselessly. Taecyeon would have noticed it by now. He had left it on the counter. Taecyeon appears around the corner again, his shirt collar undone and his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a slice of sausage pizza folded in one hand as he takes an impossibly large bite. Junho feels an amused grin coax his lips apart. 

“You found your wallet, then?” Taecyeon pads to where he had left things Junho might need while he was at work-- Junho’s wallet, a sheet with some phone numbers scrawled onto it, an epipen-- and looks the pile over for a minute before turning to face him.

“When did we start seeing each other?” Junho blurts out, and Taecyeon stops chewing momentarily, a nearly imperceptible wrinkle appearing between his brows before he continues eating. Junho shifts on the sofa, standing and moving to sit on the arm instead, his eyes trained on Taecyeon’s face. “Because I-- I saw the picture in the bedroom and you look the way you do now-- or--” he reaches up to run a hand through his hair, careful to only graze the thick patch of bandage just at the base of his skull. “--the way you do in my last memory of you,” he corrects himself, hoping Taecyeon understands what he’s trying to say and isn’t as confused as he himself feels. 

Taecyeon shoves the last bit of crust into his mouth and dusts his hands together, his eyes on the floor, the soft lighting overhead making his glasses appear opaque in the instant before he raises his eyes to Junho’s. He licks his lips and steps close enough that Junho notices a few grease stains darkening the vibrant blue fabric of his shirt. He stops just a foot in front of him and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“During your clinical rotations,” he begins, and Junho wrinkles his eyebrows. Clinical rotations? He made it all the way to his third year and still dropped out? He can’t help but be a little impressed with himself, but then he zones back in when Taecyeon continues, “you were assigned to my team. I was one of the interns grading you, and you were… struggling.” The last word comes out as a peppery chuckle, the shadows in the room finding the dimples in Taecyeon’s cheeks.

Junho lifts an eyebrow, his voice cautious even as he articulates the path his mind takes, “So you took advantage of me?” The pitch of his voice drops, an accusatory edge in it that Junho doesn’t quite hear as much as he sees the spark of anger in Taecyeon’s eyes. 

“No,” Taecyeon denies firmly, his eyes never leaving Junho’s. Junho feels some of the tension in his shoulders lessen, and he sighs. Taecyeon reaches up and presses his thumb and forefinger beneath his glasses to rub at his eyes. He adjusts them on the bridge of his nose, and doesn’t meet Junho’s gaze when he adds, “it was the opposite.”

Junho’s mouth drops open. “I--” he stops promptly, but now he is the one who needs to look away. His ears and neck burn hot and he’s sure they’re red, along with his cheeks. He took advantage of Taecyeon? 

“I liked you, and it was really obvious by that point,” Taecyeon laughs again, uncomfortably. Junho’s eyes travel up to his face again and see that Taecyeon is peering at the far wall just above Junho’s head, a sheepish smile sloping his mouth. “I was pretty pathetic. I’d stay up all night helping you study, gave you grades you didn’t deserve...” Junho has the nerve to smirk to himself at the far away, nostalgic haze clouding Taecyeon’s eyes as he recalls moments long ago. At his own craftiness. At the fact this is the most he’s heard Taecyeon say since he woke up from the coma. 

“So I used you,” Junho summarizes, his voice dull. His old self sounds like a total asshole. He blinks at Taecyeon, who finally peers at him and shakes his head. 

“You fell for me later,” he says softly, a sad smile curling his lips. Junho purses his own, something in his chest tightening at the thought of falling for Taecyeon. He lets his eyes skim across Taecyeon’s face. He’s handsome-- that much Junho knew from the start, even with his awful hair. But now, he’s all square jaw and clean-cut black hair and Clark Kent glasses, a shirt that, despite the wrinkles, fits his strong body in the most alluring shade of superhero blue. Alright. Maybe he sort of gets it now. 

Junho’s gaze drops to Taecyeon’s hand, where the lighting glints off the thick gold band on his ring finger. Junho perks up at the sight of it. He leans forward unconsciously, eyes wide. 

“Is that your wedding ring?”

Taecyeon unfolds his arms and straightens his fingers, peering down at his own hand as if it doesn’t belong to him and he doesn’t know what he’ll find. “Yeah,” he mutters, crossing his arms again, and his left hand slides beneath his other arm, the ring vanishing from sight. Junho looks down at his own hand. There’s a pale indent on his ring finger. 

“Can I have mine back?” he rises to his feet, standing directly in front of Taecyeon and meeting his wary gaze. 

“Why?”

Junho stares at him. “Because it’s mine,” he settles with, shrugging. Taecyeon considers him for a moment, his brows still knit and his mouth turned in a thoughtful scowl. 

“Ok,” Taecyeon says, stepping away. Junho grins behind him and follows him out of the living room, down the hall past the bathroom and into the guest bedroom. Taecyeon makes for the dresser in the corner, and Junho takes a moment to glance around the room. There are some clothes in the closet, hanging haphazardly. A laptop and an iPad sit on the unmade bed, charging. He wonders when Taecyeon did this, considering it was empty when he last saw it. Maybe when he was sleeping?

Taecyeon coughs, and Junho turns to look at him. He’s holding out a gold band between his fingertips, identical to his own. Junho takes it, and it’s heavy in his palm. “It’s nice,” he whispers, hearing Taecyeon sigh through his nose. Taecyeon places his hands on his hips, staring down at the ring as Junho rolls it between his fingers, turns it over, and then slides it onto his finger, right over the mark it left behind. 

Taecyeon stands silently in front of him, not moving an inch. Junho runs his finger over the smooth fine metal, then splays his fingers out in front of his stomach. It looks right. He doesn’t want to think about what that means, but he’s sure his future self-- present self, whatever-- would agree.

“I’m gonna head to bed,” Taecyeon mumbles, his eyes flicking up to Junho’s briefly before he scratches at the back of his head and looks at the floor again. Junho drops his hand to his side and nods. 

“You can sleep in your bed, you know.” he offers, “I should sleep in here.”

Taecyeon shakes his head. “No. It’s more comfortable in there,” he turns away and shuts the dresser drawer he probably pulled the ring from. “Besides, it’s more familiar. To your body, even if your mind doesn’t recognize it.”

Junho shrugs. He hasn’t remembered anything sleeping in there so far. And judging by the almost empty bottle of lube he might not want to anytime soon. “Ok, Doctor. Don’t say I didn’t try.” He hears Taecyeon sniff just as he turns for the door.

“Night,” Taecyeon says, and Junho peers at him over one shoulder. 

“Night.”


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Minjun.

Junho pushes open the guest room door, leaning on the knob and sticking his head inside. Taecyeon is sitting at the edge of his bed, turned away from Junho and leaning over something he can’t see from where he is. He steps further into the room. “Hey, Taecyeon.”

Taecyeon peers back at him, righting his body in Junho’s direction. He’s still fully dressed from work. His chest swells full of an obvious sigh and he lowers his iPad-- Junho swears the fricking thing is glued to his hand-- to his lap. Surprised brows arch above his glasses and he clears his throat. “Hi,” he says. 

Junho pauses at the corner of the bed, nudging at the mattress with one knee, slipping his hands into his sweatpants’ pockets. He had planned what he was going to say and how to say it before making the trek to Taecyeon’s room-- he was going to be as nice as possible. He was going to use the right words. He was going to try really really hard not to hurt Taecyeon’s feelings. 

But with Taecyeon here, right in front of him, he forgets all of that and he’s left with the only line of defense he has when he’s stopped thinking: his mouth.

“There’s no more food,” he announces, and his voice sounds loud in the quiet, dim room, with just two people in this giant apartment. Taecyeon sits on the bed silently, blinking at him in confusion, and he feels compelled to keep going. “Snacks. I ate all the snacks, so can you go get some more? You should probably get them tonight since you have to work early tomorrow,” He cocks his head to one side, wincing internally when the words ring in his own ears one by one, over and over. It’s not nice at all. He pushes a smile onto his lips to make it better. 

Taecyeon furrows his brows, looks down at the black screen on his iPad and hits a button to check the time. Junho reads it upside down. 11:06 P.M. 

“I would go myself,” Junho adds, staring at the top of Taecyeon’s head as he scoots forward and sets the iPad on top of the nightstand and gets to his feet. He tries to fight his smile because Taecyeon is actually _going_. He purses his lips tightly to keep the corners from lifting. “But I’m not allowed to drive yet.” He bites at his bottom lip as Taecyeon nods, yawning and raising his arms over his head to stretch. His glasses slide a little down his nose and he just barely catches them with the edge of his finger. 

“Anything in particular?” Taecyeon asks, bending down to scoop his work bag up by the strap. He sets it down on the bed and pulls the flap open. Junho watches him fish out his wallet, thinking. His appetite is coming back and he’s ravenous. Chips would be nice. And cookies. And microwaveable food like cup noodles. Soda. Popcorn. He wants everything. And he doesn’t want Taecyeon to come back with the wrong stuff.

“I’ll just come with you,” he turns and is out of the door before Taecyeon can reply, but he hears feet behind him on his way back to the other room. He goes into the closet and makes for his shirts. They’re arranged by color-- his future self is _too_ cool. He grins to himself, pulling down a dark gray t-shirt with a cool design on the front-- a skull and crossbones that looks vaguely familiar but that he can’t quite place. 

His pants hang on a lower rung around waist level, jeans at one end and dress pants on the other, with more casual looks in between. He tugs a pair of black jeans from their hanger and sets them on the tall drawer chest in the center of the walk-in closet. 

“Do you need to pick an outfit for the grocery store?” Taecyeon calls. Junho’s eyes snap up, vitriol ready at the tip of his tongue. But through the door he can just make out Taecyeon’s back-- he’s standing awkwardly near the bedroom TV, very pointedly _not_ within sight of the closet where Junho is getting dressed. Junho swallows his insult and rolls his eyes, slightly guilty. He decides to be civil. 

“Shut up,” he says loud enough for Taecyeon to hear, pushing his sweats off and tugging his jeans over his legs. He doesn’t recognize the brand but they fit like a glove-- and, excited, he pulls his hoodie over his head and puts on the t-shirt he found. He turns and stands in front of the full-length mirror. The shirt hem falls mid-thigh and the shoulders droop just above his bicep. Maybe future-self wanted it oversized? He shrugs. The jeans look good-- they add a streamlined look to his body that compliments the looseness of his shirt. His old self is _really_ fit.

His eyes travel back up to his face and he frowns. The skin beneath his eyes is yellow tinged, tired, despite all the sleep he got those two weeks in the hospital. He rubs at them, then tracks his hand up to his hair. It’s longer than he likes, framing his face, but long enough to cover the bandages at the back of his head where surgeons had had to shave a little off to place the drain to reduce swelling after the brain trauma. He smooths the locks down where the white patch of gauze sticks out and turns, not quite satisfied with how he looks, to find a rolled up pair of socks in a drawer and pull them onto his feet.

Taecyeon is sitting at the edge of the bed flicking through his phone when Junho joins him in the bedroom. “Ready,” he mutters, wondering if he needs a jacket. Taecyeon stands and turns to face him, and then he pauses, dark eyes appearing momentarily distracted. Junho peers up at him, mildly curious. “What?” Taecyeon opens his mouth and then shuts it. 

“Nothing. Come on, let’s go,” he says, and leads the way to the parking garage. They drive in silence to the grocery store, which seems to be somewhere around a ten minute drive this late at night. The streets are practically empty and the wind is cool against Junho’s skin. He follows Taecyeon inside the grocery store, where a smattering of shoppers wander about. Thin metal creaks as Taecyeon pulls a cart from the queue near the front, and they get to shopping.

They are on the snack aisle when Junho notices someone staring at him. “I should have worn a hat,” he remarks, irritated. He pulls his gaze from the store employee whose eyes lingered far too long. “I think people can see my bandage.” He reaches up to pat his hair down self-consciously, noticing a bag of BBQ chips and dumping it in the basket. As an after thought he grabs another one.

“You just had surgery,” Taecyeon says, and Junho follows his eyes to where they rove over the slowly filling cart. It’s mostly junk. Junho’s ears perk up for Taecyeon to say something else, but he stays facing away from him and just reaches up for a few boxes of cookies and sets them in the cart. The picture on the front of the box catches Junho’s eye-- a white kitten pawing at a glass of milk-- and then as they turn onto the drink aisle, he remembers. 

He spins around and stomps to stand next to Taecyeon behind the basket. He smacks Taecyeon on the bicep, and Taecyeon tears his attention from the twelve pack of coke he’s adding to the cart to look down at him. “Ow,” he mumbles, narrowing his eyes at him. “What was that for?”

“What happened to my cats?” Junho stares him down, his hands on his hips. Taecyeon blinks quickly, looking him up and down before sighing and leaning against the cart. Junho doesn’t miss the way the seams of his mouth tilt upwards. He crosses his arms over his chest, hoping he hasn’t married some kind of animal-sacrificing lunatic or something. 

Taecyeon winces, managing to avoid Junho’s eye contact when he answers diplomatically, “We compromised.” Junho leans closer to him, trying to force him to meet his eyes. Taecyeon doesn’t.

“What does that mean?” Junho speaks slowly, cautious. Were they put down? Left on the street in a box? Strays? Taecyeon rises to his full height, peering down his nose at Junho, his eyes visibly traveling over Junho’s face. Junho stands up straighter, not about to be intimidated or anything like that. Taecyeon tilts his head to one side, and the tiny smile from earlier reappears. His eyes soften, and it occurs to Junho that this is the longest they’ve ever held eye contact and-- _oh_. 

“I don’t like cats,” Taecyeon is saying, but Junho can’t quite focus on the words because Taecyeon is still looking at him with raw, unabashed _affection_ , and Junho can’t believe he hasn’t noticed it before now. Or maybe he just never noticed Taecyeon period. He takes an unconscious step backwards, suddenly nervous. The photo from the bedside table flashes through his mind. They probably fight like this all the time-- _like a married couple_ \-- with weird emotions and other complications involved. His ring feels oddly heavy on his hand. “You gave them to a friend of yours. Your co-worker. You see them from time to time. I’ll find his contact information when we get home.”

Junho exhales, relieved that they're still alive. But still he takes another steps back, averting his gaze. In his periphery Taecyeon does the same, and the wheels squeak slowly upon the linoleum floor. Junho can’t help it. He side-eyes Taecyeon sneakily. Did he really abandon his family _and_ his Johnny and Wolie for this guy? Was this something Taecyeon had to do a lot? Talk him down? A thought suddenly occurs to him.

“You know,” Junho starts, staring straight ahead as they made their way towards the frozen foods section, “you could tell me pretty much anything and I’d have no choice but to believe you.”

Taecyeon laughs mirthlessly, pausing near the ice cream and adjusting his glasses. “I wouldn’t lie to you,” his voice is bland, tired, but it still sounds close enough to a promise that Junho purses his lips and backs off. Taecyeon suddenly turns to him and adds, “Let me know when you want to see the cats. I can call him to bring them over.”

Junho snorts, slinging open one of the freezers and stepping inside the door and shaking his head, mildly annoyed. What, amnesia means he can’t do things himself? Make his own phone calls? The chilled air roughens the skin on his arms and the door swings back and hits his butt. 

“I should probably eat some real food,” Junho yawns, eager to change the subject. He closes his hand over a tub of vanilla bean ice cream. He finished the one at home earlier for lunch. “I feel like I gained weight. Lying in bed for two weeks probably didn’t help either,” he steps out of the freezer and drops the ice cream in the basket with everything else. 

He peers down the length of his torso and pokes at his stomach. It’s hard, but he swears there was more muscle tone a few days ago. “Pretty soon this huge shirt will be the only thing that fits me,” Junho chuckles, turning to look at Taecyeon. Taecyeon lowers his gaze to him briefly, his eyes flitting over the shirt before they move away to the shelves once again, and he pushes the cart towards the check out. 

“You look fine.” 

\--------

Junho doesn’t need therapy. He’s not crazy-- he has _amnesia_. He peers around in contempt at the cluttered furnishings in his _psychiatrist’s_ office. Everything pops out at him in shocking shades of pink, red, and black. There are tiny metal teddy bears on the huge wooden desk and skull-shaped candles on the fully stocked book shelves. Odd paintings line the walls-- Junho is particularly struck by the one where a man in a hat has a bright green apple for a face--

“Hello, Junho!” Junho turns, startled, and pushes himself to his feet at the sound of the chipper voice that can only belong to Dr. Kim. A man around his height in a red funny-patterned shirt and black bow-tie comes through the door with a small notebook, a row of perfect teeth bared in a smile. He has a shiny black bowl-cut that hearkens back to Junho’s elementary school days. Junho smiles, surprised. He looks too young to be a doctor, much less a psychiatrist. His complexion is perfect, and his bubbliness shines through eyes that droop just so above his grinning cheekbones as he extends a hand for Junho to shake. “I’m Dr. Kim Minjun, it’s nice to meet you.”

Junho’s smile comes easily-- he kind of wants to laugh-- but he nods, taking his seat when Dr. Kim gestures for him to do so. He sits across from Junho in a similar arm chair. 

“Do you mind if I play some music? I find it to be calming,” Dr. Kim speaks as if he’s in a hurry, so fast Junho almost can’t keep up. Junho sputters for a reply, crossing one ankle at his knee. 

“Sure, why not,” he replies, earning a wider smile from the doctor. Dr. Kim leans forward and fishes his phone from his pocket, fiddling with the screen before soft jazz fills the room. Junho’s head swings around for the source of the sound-- it’s nice.

“Bluetooth speakers,” Dr. Kim says excitedly, wiggling his brows conspiratorially at Junho as he flips open his notebook. 

“Oh,” Junho says, “right.” The silence stretches between them, broken only by the intermittent rise and fall of a passionate saxophone. 

“So,” Dr. Kim starts before it gets too awkward, his dark, downturned eyes probing. Junho resists the urge to echo him, but only slightly. His knee bounces uncontrollably and he chews at his bottom lip as Dr. Kim continues. “You’re very lucky to be here with us. It’s a miracle you even survived.” His voice is caring, soothing despite the miles per hour at which his words leave his mouth. Junho settles a bit more in the softness of his chair, shrugging a shoulder. 

“I don’t remember it,” he says, smiling politely, meaning the attack. The robbery. Dr. Kim nods, compassion sparkling in his gaze.

“What _do_ you remember?”

Junho pushes his lips out thoughtfully, his eyes wandering about the room’s juvenile contents, unseeing. “I remember everything before that,” he comments, “my childhood, college. Medical school, my friends.” He pauses and swallows, “Taecyeon.” His eyes drop to his own jeans. 

“Taecyeon’s your husband, right?” Dr. Kim’s voice asks, and Junho nods. “You don’t remember marrying him.” It’s not a question, so Junho peers up at him with a bit of a grimace, choosing not to say a word. At Dr. Kim’s indulgent smile he knows he’s guessed correctly and Dr. Kim didn’t expect a reply. “Do you want to remember?”

Junho lowers his gaze again and wiggles one finger into a hole just above his knee. “Nope,” he says, his voice dry. Dr. Kim’s pen scratches against paper. Junho peers up at the sound of the doctor’s sigh. 

“I find that hard to believe,” he considers Junho for a moment, and Junho realizes he’s probably being psychoanalyzed just from the little bits of information he’s already given him. “You made it all the way to medical school. You’re smart,” Dr. Kim adds, and a flash of irritation slices through Junho at the fact that Taecyeon probably gave Dr. Kim a brief biography. “You’re curious, given your line of work. You don’t have any questions about your life?”

“Nope,” Junho repeats, slouching in his chair. He drops the back of his head against the cushion, throwing up his eyebrows expectantly. The muscles in Dr. Kim’s face twitch, making him appear mildly amused. Junho feels himself grinning. _This is fun._

“Witnesses from the robbery say two men came in with masks and guns,” Dr. Kim’s voice turns solemn and his eyes stare unblinkingly. Junho’s chest suddenly tightens. “They say they were scared, and that you saved their lives.” Junho narrows his eyes. He hadn’t known about that. _Well fuck_ , he thinks. _Dr. Kim is good at this._ “Don’t you want to know what kind of man you became?”

A long silence fills the room, and it’s only the music. Junho isn’t a coward. At least he doesn’t think of himself as one. In spite of everything else, his parents raised him to be vocal and ambitious. But he’s realistic. He doesn’t know if-- as he is right now, as he recognizes himself and at the point in time where his own awareness has rooted itself-- Junho doesn’t know if he would brave gunfire to stop a robbery. He breathes in and out slowly, maintaining Dr. Kim’s intense eye contact. He forces the muscles in his shoulder to move in a small shrug. “Yeah. Whatever.” 

Dr. Kim beams. 

“So. Who do you remember Taecyeon to be?”

“My TA,” Junho reaches up to swipe a hand over his forehead, feeling like he’s watching re-runs of a really terrible show. Just as he thought, nothing new was coming from this. He exhales a sigh, masking his frustration as fatigue. His voice rings dull in his ears when he adds, “he helped out in one of my medical school classes.” He swears he’ll scream if he has to explain this to one more person. Dr. Kim nods, scribbling in his book. 

“And were you attracted to him?”

“No,” Junho answers quickly. He was too focused on passing to be distracted by Taecyeon in Biochem. Plus, they didn’t see each other that often. Only around exams, and, last he remembers, he had a midterm coming up and they were due to meet up soon. He looks down at his hands, curling his fingers and turning his ring around. He uncrosses his legs, sets both feet on the floor. 

“How did you feel finding out you married him?”

Junho snorts, still observing the veins and lines in the backs of his palms. He shakes his head at himself and says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Angry.”

Dr. Kim is silent, and Junho glances up at him to see him staring openly. Eye contact seems to be what he wants, so Junho holds it, blinking, a bit more hesitant about this whole thing now.

“Just angry?”

Junho shakes his head, recalling the moment when he awoke, when Taecyeon kissed him and all hell broke loose. Dr. Choi telling him he had Rip Van Winkled his way into a complete mess. When he realized he wasn’t as tough as he thought. “I was afraid,” Junho mumbles, unable to pull his eyes away from Dr. Kim’s. 

“You’ve been through all of this before,” Dr. Kim explains, shifting his weight forward onto his knee. “At some point in your life, you stopped being afraid. You freed yourself from your fear, and Taecyeon was a part of that. Perhaps he even helped you.” Junho’s lip curls up in distaste, and Dr. Kim smiles before continuing, “Taecyeon is a resource. Talk to him.”

Junho snorts, a burst of dormant exasperation shoving his arms out to his sides in a flail. They flop back against the leather chair. “He doesn’t talk to me,” he huffs. “He leaves before I wake up in the morning and comes back ten hours later. He’s always tired.” Junho doesn’t know why Taecyeon’s skittishness bothers him-- it just does. “He doesn’t even look at me half the time, and when he does it’s like I’m something to eat.” Junho knows he’s probably pouting but he can’t help it. He thinks back to the store, to every other time Taecyeon looked at him for more than a second and got _weird_. It was gross. It was…

Dr. Kim laughs. He _laughs_. Junho frowns. “Do you know how long you’ve been married?” Dr. Kim asks, his smile sticking on his lips. 

“He said the wedding was sometime last year apparently,” Junho recounts, and Dr. Kim nods, chuckling as he writes something down. Junho stretches his neck a little-- he sees flowy handwriting that’s far too fine to read from a distance. He thinks he can make out some numbers. Dr. Kim lifts his head and Junho slides back into his seat instantly, gnawing on his bottom lip, hoping he wasn’t noticed. 

“That’s still the honeymoon phase,” Dr. Kim points out, a slight wince marring his surveying gaze. Junho makes a gagging sound off to the side, shuddering. “Just because you don’t remember him doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.”

Junho’s pulse starts to race at the big ‘L’ word, stated so plainly. He reaches up to run a palm down the side of his face. What a mess. 

“Junho.”

He reluctantly glances up at the sound of his own name, and Dr. Kim’s answering smile is something Junho can only describe as sweet. 

“As much as you’re going through right now, remember: you lost your memories, yes. But Taecyeon lost his husband. Try to see things from his perspective.” He suggests, and Junho realizes the last half hour was pretty much the scenic route for saying one thing: _stop being a selfish brat_. He sighs, and just nods, slightly exhausted. He can take a hint. “Now, aside from your marriage,” Dr. Kim presses on, flipping a page in his notebook. Junho peers up at the clock with a tugging feeling in his stomach. The appointment will be over soon, and he’s not as happy about that as he thought he would be when it started. 

“How do you feel?” And as soon as the words are out tears burn, hot and sudden in the corners of Junho’s eyes. If Dr. Kim is surprised he doesn’t say anything. His face betrays nothing but warmth. 

“I miss my mom,” Junho croaks, and it’s like Dr. Kim has cast some sort of spell, dipped a ladle down Junho’s throat to scoop all his thoughts and words out. He’s never said this aloud-- at least not any time he remembers. Dr. Kim leans forward, nodding for him to continue and pushing a box of tissues closer to Junho’s end of the table between them. “When I was little I--” A self-deprecating laugh slips from Junho’s lungs, and he snatches up two wipes and presses them to his eyes, sniffling, his voice a sliver above a whisper. 

“I liked this boy and I told my mom about it,” He lowers his face, the skin burning. He rubs his damp palms against his jeans as the memories flood to the surface, scattered images and sensations: dry, crumbly chalk. Small, chubby hands and fluffy hair, his mother’s firm voice in his ear, wiping the smile clean from his face. _Boys can’t like boys. It’s a sin._ He clears his throat, and his voice comes out stronger, but grim, “she spanked me. She told me it was disgusting. She told me that my whole life, and I didn’t want to be disgusting.” 

Dr. Kim’s face floats just out of focus, peering at him soberly, his head bobbing up and down in understanding. “You tried to repress a part of yourself that can’t _be_ repressed. You realized that, and you did what made you happy, not what your mother told you to do.” He reasons, his voice soft, like a close friend. Junho furrows his brows, not looking away from his hands. The words make perfect sense, but something inside his chest still _squeezes_ , still hurts. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, his voice rolling low and deep between them. He feels his own breath, warm, as his sigh curls beneath his collar. He sniffles again and flicks some invisible dust from his jeans and blinks back more tears when he looks up to meet Dr. Kim’s gaze once again. “She’s not my mother anymore.”


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taecyeon has dirty, dirty thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains explicit sexual things and lots of references to sex, so be advised. Also, I'm not sure if Koreans eat Western-style breakfasts with forks (or whether they eat Western-style breakfasts at all), but they do here! Sorry if I offend anyone. Taec likes his bacon.

Taecyeon feels like Prometheus. Except there is no fire, no Mount Olympus. No gods. No mortals for him to save. There is only retribution, and this life that he’s chained to. He wakes early in the morning and his bed is _hard_. That's always the first sign that he’s not dreaming. The second comes when he turns over as the sunlight tugs him out of his slumber, and he stretches out an arm only to touch air. He's not dreaming. For the millionth time in the last few weeks, he opens his eyes and sees, groggily, that this is not his bed and his husband is gone. 

He sits up, pulls himself out of bed, and when it sinks in, his heart breaks into tiny pieces all over again. And as he drags himself through the house that doesn't even feel like his own anymore, he sees the marks of Junho's presence. His eyes spy the popcorn bowl sitting on the living room sofa, the toothpaste that somehow made its way onto the bathroom mirror, and the fragments of his heart slowly creep towards one another again, reassembling at a snail’s pace. 

Because he isn't gone. Not in the way he could have been. Not in the way that would have truly claimed Taecyeon's sanity, possibly his life. He sighs, grateful for small fortunes, and begins his day as normal. 

When he finishes showering and brushing his teeth, he gets dressed-- sweats today. It's Saturday, and the fact pains him more than he would like to admit because he can’t distract himself with patients to avoid the one currently living with him. He frowns at how odd it is, thinking of Junho that way. He finds his phone and searches for Minjun’s name in his contacts. He types a text to him as he makes his way to the living room and settles on the sofa. 

_How did it go?_

His phone buzzes just as he's turned on the TV. 

_Dpc you little punk_

Doctor patient confidentiality. Taecyeon’s smile is a faint pressure upon his face, and he throws his phone down. He eyes the hallway leading back to the bedrooms, wondering if Junho is up yet. It's a little before 10 am. The fact that Taecyeon is up is a feat in itself, but he doesn't linger on the meaning behind it. All of his rhythms, all his habits, have been displaced as of late. 

He goes into the kitchen, suddenly hungry. There are eggs and bacon in the fridge, and a half eaten loaf of bread sits where Junho probably left it on the counter. He hasn't used the stove since before all this happened. He cards his fingers through his hair, staring around until he finds a skillet and gets to work. 

The bacon is nice and crispy when he hears footsteps behind him. He peers over his shoulder and something in his stomach flips, the heart pieces draw nearer to one another with a ruthless magnetism, because for all intents and purposes the slow, lazy slink in Junho’s steps, the sleepy eyes and the messy hair-- it's _his_ Junho coming towards him. And in a perfect world, Taecyeon’s world, Junho’s arms would coil around his waist and he'd hug him tight from behind and tell him how good the food smelled. 

He's even taken to sleeping in Taecyeon’s One Piece shirt, the grey one, and it's cruel because they’ve fucked while Junho had that shirt on. Taecyeon has lifted it and pushed himself inside him, he's torn at the collar and stretched it beyond repair to get at Junho’s neck and Junho had kept washing it, kept wearing it just to tempt him, and now-- not his-- Junho doesn’t even know what it means. Taecyeon swallows bitterly and looks away. 

Oil pops up and lands on his wrist, the back of his palm, and it _burns_ but that kind of pain is insignificant. Junho stops on the other side of the island between the doorway and the stove, falling forward with an elbow on the counter as his other hand pushes his hair away from his eyes. 

"I didn't know you could cook," he mumbles, and the honest note in his deep, drowsy voice hurts Taecyeon more than he would care to admit, because Junho does know. Junho’s the only person on earth he allows to know everything about him. 

He forces a smile Junho’s way and turns back to use his spatula to lift the bacon onto the paper towel he’s placed on a clean plate. The grease soaks into the white fibers. He swipes a hand over his forehead where sweat prickles and turns for the carton of eggs on the counter. One of the stools’ legs scrapes across the floor, and suddenly Junho is next to him, blinking sleepily down at the still sizzling cooked bacon. 

"Do you know how to make an omelet?" He asks, watching Taecyeon crack three eggs on the side of a bowl. 

"Is that what you want?" Taecyeon turns just so, his gaze resting somewhere around one of Junho's cheekbones, but not his eyes. He throws the eggshells in the trash and rinses his hands. 

"Yeah," Junho mutters, and snaps a piece of bacon from one of the strips on the paper towel. Taecyeon turns to open the fridge, fishing out the bag of shredded cheese he knows is hiding behind all the soda. Junho is watching him with a curious quirk to his brows when he turns around. "How'd you know I wanted-- nevermind." He chuckles, and moves back to sit on one of the stools, this time choosing one on the same side as Taecyeon. 

Taecyeon smirks and whisks the eggs in the bowl until they thicken into a yellow substance. The butter is hot in the pan, and it hisses loudly in the kitchen when he pours half of the egg into it. 

Junho’s stool squeaks again and Taecyeon notices him pulling bread from the bag and sliding them into the toaster. He hesitates for only a second before reaching up into the cabinets and pulling down two plates. He opens three drawers before he finds utensils and carries it all to the island. He places a set down where he's sitting and one across from him, and then hops back onto his seat, watching Taecyeon cook. 

Taecyeon turns around before he lets his smile consume his face. This is almost normal-- him cooking breakfast while Junho sits back, being waited upon. He flips Junho’s omelet and folds a hefty wad of cheese inside. He moves over to Junho, who leans aside as he uses his spatula to slide it onto his plate. 

"Not bad," Junho remarks, grinning. Taecyeon snorts and goes back to the stove. His own eggs cook quickly, scrambled, and he fixes his own plate and brings the bacon over to set down between them. The toaster dings and he takes the two golden brown slices that pop up and adds them to their plates. Junho waits until Taecyeon's sitting down before digging in. 

"Mm," he shoves his food in his mouth, reaching forward to pull some bacon onto his plate. Taecyeon takes a few too-- nervous, hoping he likes it. As an afterthought he jumps up and grabs the orange juice from the fridge and two glasses. He pours them both some and settles back down to eat. 

"So what do I like to do on weekends?" Junho asks suddenly, and his eyes wander to Taecyeon's face, and Taecyeon has to resist the urge to watch him put his food in his mouth, watch his lips close around his fork. He lowers his gaze to his plate, trying not to think about how weird it is, his husband asking him what they do because he doesn't remember him. This whole thing is weird. He swallows a huge fluffy bite of scrambled eggs and considers the question. 

On weekends they fucked like rabbits. But he couldn't tell Junho that without seriously doing some mental damage. More mental damage than Junho already has, anyway. He shrugs. "Whatever you want," he says, which isn’t a lie. They always want to fuck-- and then he realizes that doesn't really answer the question. Junho grabs his orange juice and takes a lazy sip, and Taecyeon remembers his own and takes a long gulp. "We usually just sit around, chill at home. We both work a lot."

"Huh," Junho mutters, picking another piece of bacon from the paper towel. This time Taecyeon does watch him eat, and he feels guilty, but Junho isn’t looking his way and he’s free for the moment to appreciate the bacon grease glossing Junho’s perfect lips as he says, "So you're still a stick in the mud." 

Taecyeon almost spits his juice out, and Junho laughs. "What," Junho grins, leaning on one elbow, "I never told you what I thought about you?"

Taecyeon chuckles, "You did. I just forgot." It feels like years ago all over again, the shroud of awkwardness heavy, opaque around them. Junho smiles. His omelet is gone, and so are Taecyeon’s eggs. There are a few pieces of bacon left, and Taecyeon doesn't ask for permission to take them. He stuffs them, whole, into his mouth and washes it down with his juice. 

"Ugh," Junho grimaces at his display, but the expression is gone just as soon as it appears, and he's jumping off his stool. "I'll do the dishes." 

Taecyeon’s eyes widen in surprise when Junho takes their plates and drops them in the sink. He turns on the water and moves towards the dishwasher to open it. He stares at it, then casts a long look at the sink. Taecyeon bites his lip to stop his amused smirk, and almost a whole minute passes before Junho turns to him, the shells of his ears red. 

"Do I put them in now?"

If this were last month, Taecyeon would have sprung up and given in to his impulse to kiss him because he was so cute when he was trying to be helpful. But he can’t do that now, and the regret stings like an open sore. 

"Yeah," he hides his smile and Junho moves aside when Taecyeon stands near him to pull the detergent from cabinet and dump some into the dishwasher. 

“You’re not off the hook, you know.” Junho reminds him, but Taecyeon _doesn’t know_ what he’s being reminded of. He peers curiously in Junho’s direction. Junho rolls his eyes as if it’s obvious. “I’m still pissed about the therapy,” he reaches out to turn off the sink, and Taecyeon pauses as he’s loading the dishwasher, wincing. 

“That was Dr. Choi’s idea,” he counters, defensive, and Junho just narrows his eyes at him, all suspicious and scary. Taecyeon eyes Junho warily, and Junho crosses his arms over his chest and scoffs. 

“My psychiatrist or whatever is crazier than me,” he points out flatly, and Taecyeon tosses his head back and laughs. It almost slips, that Minjun is one of Junho’s best friends, but he holds it in. “It’s not funny!” Junho smacks Taecyeon hard on the shoulder. 

Taecyeon flinches away from him, caught off guard, a fork slipping from his grasp and they both freeze to watch it fall into the dishwasher. Junho turns to him, and the disdainful glint that Taecyeon sees in his eyes is familiar, the condescending smirk that takes shape on his lips is a flavor he’s tasted. 

“That was your fault,” Junho announces as he moves away from the dishwasher, and slowly, painfully, the cracks separating the pieces of his heart close, and the feeling inside Taecyeon is warm, whole. Taecyeon chuckles and shakes his head. He bends down and wiggles his hand beneath the grate housing the dishes, grunting when his finger grazes the fork and he pulls it out. “Ugh, you’re such a housewife,” Junho remarks, and Taecyeon glares over his shoulder at him. 

Junho’s small eyes peer back at him innocently, and Taecyeon bites his tongue to not point out everything politically incorrect about Junho’s statement. Junho comes closer, his gaze directed somewhere around the top of Taecyeon’s head. Taecyeon remains kneeling by the dishwasher, unsure whether he should stand or not-- but Junho is coming to him of his own accord, and he can’t convince himself to move even if he wanted to. He takes a breath.

His eyes track Junho’s hand as it stretches out, and he has to tip his head back to watch before he feels it ruffling at his hair harshly. He bats Junho’s hand away and Junho snickers. 

“Tch,” his gaze travels in the vicinity of Taecyeon’s hair again, “too bad it’s not long anymore. At least then I could have pretended I married a woman.” His eyes fall to Taecyeon’s and his top lip curls in exaggerated disgust. “A really big, muscular woman.” He shudders, and then he moves away, and Taecyeon has to remind himself that that is the man, the _mouth_ that he fell in love with.

When Junho leaves the kitchen to take a shower Taecyeon goes back to the couch to watch TV but his mind wanders over the colorful images; he thinks of weekends like this, when they both stayed home. He thinks of the water hitting Junho’s body right now, of seeing it with his own eyes and feeling it on his own skin because he could climb in too. He thinks of Junho on him like the water droplets, closer even, trapping him like glass around steam and never letting him escape. 

When Junho emerges from the bedroom in clean clothes, toweling at his hair, Taecyeon peers at him through wide, unblinking eyes as he squeezes the towel over his head and then discards it with a sigh, his gaze on the television. 

“It’s rude to stare,” Junho remarks without so much as a glance his way. Taecyeon averts his eyes immediately, an embarrassed cough-laugh leaving him. “So, do I like my job?” Junho changes the subject smoothly, and Taecyeon suspects Junho has done it more for his own comfort. 

“Yeah,” his voice comes out gruff. He coughs for real this time, and rubs his palm over the front of his face, wipes his nose once. Junho makes a face, his eyes still directed at the TV. He sinks down onto the armchair adjacent to where Taecyeon is on the sofa, slouching low in the big seat. 

“I’m so _bored_ ,” he huffs, snatching up the remote from the coffee table and whizzing through the channels. 

Taecyeon’s jaw twitches even though he doesn’t remember what he was watching. Junho groans in exasperation and flings the remote in Taecyeon’s direction. It lands with a soft, leathery thud on the huge space next to him. Taecyeon doesn’t bat an eyelash as he picks it up and resumes Junho’s channel surfing. Amnesia or not, he's used to Junho's tantrums.

“Do I _seriously_ like to stay home with you on weekends? I don’t like to do anything _fun_?”

Taecyeon blinks. “You do,” he assures him, even though the first real flares of irritation are starting to kick up inside him. He finds a soccer match between two European teams, and the sharp twist of Junho’s head back towards the TV lets Taecyeon know he’s momentarily distracted. It lasts all of five minutes before he grouses again, restless, and pushes himself off the armchair. He plops down on the sofa with Taecyeon, at the opposite end so there's about a foot separating them, knees bent in his direction. 

Taecyeon turns to see him peering at him blankly with his cheek propped in one palm, elbow resting on the back of the couch. 

_Taecyeon glances up from his tablet when he hears Junho come into the bedroom and he freezes. Junho’s naked but for a pair of light blue boxer briefs. They’re the shiny, stretchy kind that hit right below the generous swell of his ass, that sit low on his hips. He wraps his lips around the light green lump of ice cream sitting in the cone in his hand. Taecyeon’s mouth goes dry as Junho crawls, slow and one-handed to him across their king-sized mattress and settles his warm body against the outside of Taecyeon’s arm._

_“Hi,” Taecyeon says softly, leaning forward to accept the kiss Junho places on his mouth. His eyes are sparkling, mischievous when they pull apart._

_“Hi.”_

“You’re not funny anymore,” Junho observes, blinking at him slowly, looking very much like one of his lazy cats. “You used to be funny.”

“I thought I was a stick in the mud.” Taecyeon bites back, just a little offended. Junho snorts. 

“You were. You are,” he cackles evilly then, and Taecyeon arches a curious eyebrow at him. “You weren’t fun, but you were fun _ny_. You fucked around with people, made people laugh.” It’s on the tip of Taecyeon’s tongue-- how much _fucking_ they do and how much fun it is. 

“What’s my job?” Junho asks, dropping his gaze to peer at his own fingernails absently-- Taecyeon worries that his train of thought might have shown on his face-- but Junho leans back into his own palm, regarding Taecyeon with an incredibly rude, incredibly adorable impatience only he could be capable of. “What kind of place do I work for?”

Taecyeon sighs, thinking hard about _not_ thinking about a morning on a weekend not unlike this one. He licks his lips, willing his gaze not to fall any lower than Junho’s jawline. He focuses. Work. Junho’s job. What does he do? “It’s uh,” he scratches at his unshaven jaw, “an aviation company. You write software for planes, helicopters, and stuff.”

Junho’s jaw drops before his lips pull into a bit of a grin, and Taecyeon is afraid Junho will hit him again. “That’s awesome!” He doesn't hit him, but something in his face changes, and he winces. “It would be cooler to fly them, though.” His bottom lip, pink and shiny, pokes out in an unmistakable pout.

_It’s not mint. The flavor on Junho’s mouth is sweeter, almost like almonds, but Taecyeon can’t quite place it. He squints, licking his lips._

_“What kind is that?” he lowers his eyes to the soft green cream as Junho runs his tongue along it, his eyes on Taecyeon’s as he takes a long lathe that is as innocent as it is obscene._

_“Pistachio,” he quirks an eyebrow at him, and holds the cone out towards Taecyeon’s mouth. Taecyeon dips his head to nip a chunk between his lips, letting it melt on his tongue before he swallows it. Junho is leaning forward again, and it’s cool lips on his instead of ice cream, Junho’s icy tongue flicking at the inside of his mouth. Junho moans deviously against his mouth, inciting pleasurable sparks below Taecyeon’s navel, and Taecyeon withdraws with a chuckle._

_“Finish your ice cream, babe.”_

Junho stretches and yawns, he blinks dully and peers at the TV with little to no interest. He exhales as he pushes himself to his feet, stuffing his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. Taecyeon wonders if he’s cold. It’s spring, it’s warm, and he left the air conditioning on all night. He says nothing, however, and neither does Junho as he turns and pads out of the living room and disappears down the hall leading to the kitchen. 

The fridge opens distantly, a soda can pops open. Taecyeon, grateful, pulls a couch pillow over his lap and turns up the volume on the soccer game. The players run around on the screen, their jerseys stark blues against bright reds in HD Taecyeon spent an arm and a leg on, but he’s semi-hard and he can’t think straight. 

_Junho’s hand falls on Taecyeon’s abdomen, and he strokes slowly and languidly until Taecyeon’s t-shirt hikes up at his lower abdomen and Junho's palm is hot against his skin, his erection presses persistently against Taecyeon’s hip. Taecyeon sighs through his nose and shoves his iPad off to the side, looping his arm around Junho’s naked back and giving him his full, undivided attention. Junho smiles against his neck, and Taecyeon grips him by the jaw and pulls him in for another kiss._

_Junho’s lips are sticky and sweet, his tongue is still cool but it warms quickly in Taecyeon’s mouth, under the rough slide of his own. He groans from his throat and Junho is there, dragging one thigh over him and sitting astride his lap. Taecyeon’s hands adhere to the firm rounds of Junho’s ass, squeezing, as Junho starts to rock against him. He sighs into his husband’s mouth, winces as Junho’s teeth bite into his bottom lip and tug._

“When can I take off this stupid bandage?”

Taecyeon turns abruptly at the sound of Junho’s voice directly behind him. He folds his hands over the pillow hiding the tent in his sweatpants. Junho circles around the side of the sofa and falls back down a few seats down at the other end-- and Taecyeon swallows. 

Junho has a jar of peanut butter and a spoon and-- Taecyeon forces his eyes to the TV so he just barely misses when Junho’s pink tongue comes out to lick it. 

_Junho scoots back onto Taecyeon’s thighs, and Taecyeon’s hands slip from inside his briefs with a loud_ snap _of the band against his taut flesh. He licks his kiss-swollen lips and Taecyeon watches as he tugs at the drawstring on his pants and peels them down, their eyes locking before Junho bends down with a sigh and Taecyeon’s palm finds his nape, and he gives Junho something warm and hard to suck on._

“Uh--” Taecyeon stutters, pressing the pillow down into his lap. He gets a strong whiff of nutty, salty-sweet and he knows he has to get away before something terrible happens. 

“Jeez, are you a doctor or not? When can I take this shit off my head? I look a fucking mummy--” Junho chatters away, smacking his lips together loudly, and Taecyeon manages to stand, slipping behind the sofa and tossing the pillow back down. 

“I don’t know,” he grumbles, heading towards the guest room.

“Where are you going?” Junho calls out, oblivious, but Taecyeon doesn’t respond. He shuts his door behind him and turns the lock for good measure, and lets out a sigh of relief that Junho hasn’t noticed. He practically collapses onto his bed, his hand sliding into his sweatpants, beneath his boxers and wrapping around the hilt of his erection and-- he groans, biting off the noise to keep Junho from hearing. 

_Junho holds his gaze as he steps out of his briefs and leaves them on the floor, and then the heat of his body is back, straddling Taecyeon’s lap. Taecyeon fumbles with the lube until the cap flips off and it oozes, liberally, onto fingers that seek out the cleft between Junho’s ass cheeks. Junho leans onto him, his mouth latching onto Taecyeon’s pulse point and biting as Taecyeon’s fingers tease him open._

Taecyeon remembers the white-hot clutch of Junho’s body as Junho held his eyes and lowered himself onto him. It was the first time-- and the last-- that Junho rode him, and his neck and shoulders tingle with the phantom touch of Junho’s hands there and he squeezes his cock and rubs it raw, panting quietly in his room, unable to recreate the slick sensation of here and not-here, in and out, in, in, in-- but goddamn it he could remember.

His orgasm hits him hard and much too soon but it’s been nearly a month since his last one, and the euphoria that floods him when his come gushes onto his hand brings tears to his eyes. He lies there, dazed for he’s not sure how long, before he sluggishly finds a piece of dirty laundry and cleans himself up as well as he can. He sits at the edge of his bed and drops his head in his hands. He’s disgusted with himself. He’s ashamed. 

He just jacked off to memories of his amnesiac husband who's only a few walls away. He can’t look at Junho without thinking of fucking him and-- what does that mean? Would he be this way if Junho weren’t here? He thinks back to the night he got that phone call-- 

_“Dr. Ok, don’t panic--”_

\--if things had been different, worse--

_“--It’s your husband. We need you come to the ER.”_

\--if Junho had died, would sex, the absence of it, be the only thing he cared about? If he were in a grave, and not here as a _shell_ with no memories and no love for him, Taecyeon's impulses wouldn't be restricted to the one thing that remained-- his body.

Pounding at his door shocks him from his own thoughts. It’s Junho, it could only be Junho, and he stands, looking down at himself, at his bed for any signs that it looks like what went down actually went down and finding none. Junho grimaces when Taecyeon pulls the door open. 

“You’re not crying, are you? Because that’s just-- _gay_.”

“Shut up,” Taecyeon chides, leaning on the door hinge. Junho’s eyes turn to crescents when he laughs-- he had said it on purpose. “We don’t talk like that,” Taecyeon continues, and Junho shrugs. 

“Whatever.” Junho turns away at that, and Taecyeon steps out slightly into the hallway to watch his back before he turns the corner. He sighs, that sinking feeling chilling his veins with dread, fragmenting whatever small happinesses he managed to gather together today. He knows, now: weekends will be the worst.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taecyeon has a bad day.

Taecyeon awakens with a bit of a jolt when something hits his shoulder. He peers up, confused, one hand going for the drool he feels tickling his jaw when the blurry image of his colleague Dr. Kim Yubin comes into focus. She’s standing in front of him where he had obviously fallen asleep on one of the couches in the physicians’ lounge of the cardiology department, one hand propped on her hip and an amused smile on her face. 

“Long night?” She teases, and Taecyeon laughs sleepily, rubbing his face to get rid of any extra spit he may have missed. He sighs through his nose and settles back against the couch. 

“Very,” he exhales, digging into his pocket for his phone. It’s a little after noon― he’s meeting Minjun in about half an hour. He’s glad he didn’t oversleep. Last night really _had_ been long, just not in the way it once was. Yubin smiles at him and sits on the sofa next to him.

“How is everything?” she asks, inclining her face towards his, her eyes probing. Taecyeon looks away, watching as other doctors flit absently around the room. 

“Good,” he lies, because Yubin’s smile widens when he says the word, and she pats him on the forearm. “I’m just tired.”

“That I can see,” she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a prescription bottle. “I got these for you. They’ll help you sleep.”

Taecyeon eyes it, a bit more awake now. She drops it into his hand and pushes his palm closed, a meaningful smile on her mouth. “I know pills aren’t your thing, but these work like a charm. I use them from time to time.” She squeezes her hand over his, and his eyes flick up to meet hers. They’re soft, and tinged with the slightest bit of worry― Taecyeon has never been the best liar. 

“Sure,” he says, because agreeing is easy. “Thanks.” He returns her smile, and pushes himself off of the couch, her hand slipping away to where she folds it with the other in her lap. “I have to run. I’ll see you.” She smiles and waves to him, and he goes to his office and tucks the sleeping pills deep inside his work bag. He makes it to the cafe a few blocks from the hospital before Minjun, and he chooses a table for them and sits. 

A waiter comes by with a pen and paper and he says he’s waiting for someone just as the door opens and he catches sight of Minjun walking in, peering around. “There he is,” he says absently, waving in Minjun’s direction. Minjun meets his eye and smiles, heading over. 

“Am I late?” he says by way of greeting, a little out of breath as he sits down. 

Taecyeon chuckles and makes a show of checking his watch. “Yeah, by about five minutes.” Minjun gawks at him, and manages to look thoroughly confused. 

“I thought we said 12:36? I’m a minute early!” He turns to the waiter with an incredulous roll of his eyes, pointing at Taecyeon. “This guy…” The waiter laughs politely, turning his pen in one hand a bit impatiently. Minjun clears his throat and picks up his menu. He orders something fancy-sounding that Taecyeon squints at but still doesn’t catch. 

The waiter turns to him with an expectant look and he blinks and mutters, “I’ll have the same.” Minjun laughs as the waiter walks away, and Taecyeon leans across the table. “What is that anyway?”

Minjun waves a dismissive hand, not looking up from his menu. “Just a gourmet coffee. It’s good, I promise.” Taecyeon nods and examines his own menu. He decides he wants a burger when Minjun sets his menu down and clears his throat. “So, what did you want to talk to me about only 24 hours before my next session with our Junho?” Taecyeon sighs and drinks his water, shrugging. 

Minjun stares at him through narrowed eyes, disbelieving. Taecyeon winces. The waiter returns conveniently, setting down two orange mugs of really good smelling coffee. The top is foamy, with a dark outline of what looks like a leaf floating in there. Taecyeon lifts his eyebrows, impressed. He orders his burger and Minjun gets a sandwich, and the waiter disappears again, more cheerful when he dips down for their menus and chirps, “Enjoy your coffee.”

Minjun cradles his coffee with two hands and lifts it from the saucer, holding it to his nose and taking a subtle sniff. His eyes grow big and he takes a testing sip, smacks his lips together, and smiles appreciatively before setting it back down. “So?” he continues, and Taecyeon takes the moment to fidget. He turns his mug by the handle and watches the little leaf ripple around before lifting his eyes to Minjun’s. 

He has no idea where to start, what to say, what to leave out… He knows he's already put Minjun in an awkward position by asking him to be Junho's psychiatrist, but if someone was going to be messing around in Junho's head, it needed to be someone they trusted. It’s already Thursday, but the weekend left an impression that he hasn’t been able to shake and since then Junho has been all over the place. Sunday passed uneventfully. Taecyeon had occupied himself with his laptop while Junho― purposefully, Taecyeon suspects― slept through the day since he stayed up Saturday night binge watching _The Walking Dead_. 

On Monday Taecyeon swung by the apartment during lunch to get his phone charger where he’d left it on the bed. He was barely past the front door before he smelled soap― and lots of it. 

_Taecyeon walks cautiously into the kitchen and there is Junho, peering up at him like a deer caught in headlights, the mop frozen in his hands. Taecyeon drops his keys on the island and steps around it with dread― a ring of foamy water the size of a hula hoop grows outward from the dishwasher, and Junho’s barefeet are in middle of it, covered in bubbles._

_“I think it’s broken,” Junho says with a pinched smile, and recommences his haphazard mopping that sloshes the water further across the kitchen floor and onto his feet. Taecyeon takes a step forward, and he shudders and nearly jumps out of his skin when cold water seeps into his socks. He shoots Junho an irritated glare, and Junho chuckles, all teeth. Taecyeon holds one hand out, and he hates it because he doesn’t know whether he wants to hit Junho for being so dumb or hug him for being so cute. A muscle in his eye twitches._

_“Give me the mop.”_

“He’s been trying to help out,” Taecyeon hedges, not adding that Junho has begun to screw up the house in the process. Minjun’s eyebrows lift in pleasant surprise, and Taecyeon shakes his head. He doesn’t want to get the other doctor’s hopes up. Minjun’s smile slips into a pout just as soon as it appeared. 

"Like around the house?" Minjun blows cool air through his lips over his cup. Taecyeon nods. 

"He's been doing more things on his own," he adds, and he detects a note of the irritation he feels in his voice. "I just want an idea of what he's thinking." Minjun furrows his eyebrows at him, reluctant, and he momentarily considers telling Minjun about last night―

_Taecyeon awakes coughing. It smells like a bomb has gone off, and it’s not soon enough that he realizes the headache he feels is the blaring smoke alarm. He bolts out of bed and into the kitchen to see dark smoke issuing from the microwave. He throws an arm over his mouth and nose, tears forming in his eyes as he jerks the plug from the wall and flings open the kitchen window above the sink._

_He pops the microwave door open with one hand, still covering his face and taking shallow breaths. The smoke inside is thicker, darker. He pulls out a crispy blackened something from the microwave’s hazy recesses and drops it in the sink. It sizzles loudly with steam when he douses it with cold water from the faucet. It looks oddly metallic, like―_

_“What happened?! Is it a fire?!? I CAN’T BREATHE!”_

_Taecyeon whirls around at the sound of Junho’s voice to see him standing in the kitchen doorway, his shirt collar pulled up over the lower half of his face so only his eyes show beneath his messy hair._

_“Junho―" Taecyeon starts, going to the opposite wall and opening another window. The smoke flows visibly out into the night. “Why the hell would you put aluminum foil in the microwave?” He shouts, waving his arms to push the smoke out. The entire kitchen is cloudy, and his throat feels tight._

_“WHAT?” Junho yells back, his voice still slightly muffled under his shirt. “I CAN’T HEAR YOU OVER THE ALARM!” Taecyeon purses his lips because he can hear Junho just fine. He grits his teeth, angry, annoyed, exhausted―_

_“YOU PUT ALUMINUM FOIL IN THE FUCKING―" the beeping smoke alarm suddenly falls silent― "―MICROWAVE!” His voice rings loud in the sleek kitchen, and Junho stares at him, blinking hard through red eyes._

_“Oh,” he says, coughing. He fans a hand in front of his face. “I fell asleep.”_

_Taecyeon flails, dropping his head in his hands. His surroundings are a little clearer when he looks around again. Junho is walking towards him, and he peeps into the sink curiously. “Fuck,” Taecyeon swears, rubbing at his eyes. They burn. His lungs burn, too. Everything burns. “You fell asleep?” He repeats, skeptical, and he lets out a bitter laugh. He gets it― Junho can’t remember the last five years. But how to use a microwave? Taecyeon’s pretty sure that’s not something he learned in medical school._

_He clenches his hands into fists at his side to keep from throwing something, calms his breathing by taking deep inhales of air that is still a bit smoky. Junho is rubbing his eyes again when Taecyeon turns to look at him. He wrinkles his nose at Taecyeon and grimaces._

_“Why are you in your underwear?”_

“It’s not working out?” Minjun asks, worry on his face. Taecyeon shrugs, and takes a sip of his coffee. It’s delicious. He has no idea what’s in it, but Minjun wasn’t kidding. Minjun’s expression changes― his frown deepens, and his eyes dim. “It’s strange isn’t it? I can imagine it’s even stranger for you, but…” he trails off, shuddering, nursing his coffee with both hands and staring down into the milky contents. 

Taecyeon moves his head in curt nod, and just then the waiter returns― he really has impeccable timing― and sets down a mammoth burger in front of Taecyeon, and a neatly made sandwich with artisanal grill marks on the white, fluffy bread. They thank the waiter, and he’s off again. Minjun leans forward to sniff at his plate, and he sinks back with an “Ah,” pleased. Taecyeon chuckles at him.

“I played the album he got me for Christmas last week,” Minjun mentions off-handedly, not meeting Taecyeon’s gaze, instead watching his own hands as he unfolds his napkin and sets it in his lap. Taecyeon no longer feels pressured to follow suit― he grabs his burger with one hand and sinks his teeth into it. Like the coffee, it’s delicious. 

“And?” Taecyeon says around his food, trying not to drill too hard. He knows Minjun is sparing with details that veer too close to breaching ethics, and he’ll take what he can get. 

Minjun chews daintily, covering his mouth and shrugging, swallowing completely before he answers. “Nothing. He liked it.” That makes Taecyeon smile. They finish their food in companionable silence, and the waiter flits back and forth to bring refills and glasses of water. They order dessert once their empty plates have been cleared, and Minjun resigns himself to staring openly at Taecyeon. 

“What?” Taecyeon prompts. He knows what happens when Minjun looks like this― there’s an absent smile painted across his mouth and his wide eyes blink every so often, glassy, like he might fall asleep. But he doesn’t, and he won’t. 

“Let’s talk about Dr. Taec,” Minjun suggests, clapping his hands together. Taecyeon laughs and shakes his head. 

“No.”

“Come _on_ ,” Minjun pleads, poking his bottom lip out. Taecyeon snorts, and Minjun’s lips pull into an unassuming smile. “How is Taecyeon feeling?”

“This sounds like therapy. I don’t _therapy_.” Taecyeon warns him lightly, settling back in his chair and patting a hand over his belly. Minjun rolls his eyes and groans. 

“It’s not therapy. You’re not paying me.” His hand shoots out just as Taecyeon is reaching for his water and grabs onto his wrist. (“Ow!” Taecyeon shouts.) “I’m your friend, and I’m concerned,” his eyes seem to sparkle with tears and Taecyeon squints at him, still unsure because he knows those tears are a manipulative psychiatrist _Minjun_ trick.

But Taecyeon has tricks, too.

“Fine,” he concedes, and Minjun gives his palm a few excited smacks and lets go. “But first, I want to hear how Dr. Minjun is feeling.” Taecyeon sing-songs, and Minjun gapes at him, knowing full well what Taecyeon is referring to, a look of utter betrayal crossing his face. 

“You’re cruel,” he whines, and Taecyeon throws his head back to chortle evilly.  
\----

Taecyeon arrives at exactly the time his GPS said he would, 6:14 P.M, but almost thirty minutes have passed with him just staring at the dashboard, _not_ thinking. Just staring. He had left work early just to make this drive before dark, just to make sure he had a few hours for what would probably be a long talk. He turns to look out of the window. A red sedan is parked in the curved driveway. It’s been there since he arrived. She’s home. 

He steels himself and opens his car door, stepping out onto the small, quiet residential street. His eyes trace over every detail and take it all in: the faded brick facade of the house, the white and blue paint on the shutters, the amorphous brick mailbox he steps past on his way to the sidewalk. He glances at the bright green lawn with the yellow sprinkler lost in the blades, a small patch of grass that slopes slightly the closer it gets to the street, and he thinks, _this is where Junho played as a boy. This is where he grew up, and I’ve never even seen pictures of it._

He turns his head and makes for the path leading to the porch. He steps onto the mat that literally _Welcomes_ him, and he takes a deep breath. He straightens the knot of his work tie, adjusts his glasses at the bridge of his nose, and he rings the doorbell. 

Barely a minute passes before the door opens, and Taecyeon smiles. The woman in front of him― it’s Junho― her eyes, the shape of her face. She smiles in slight surprise, toweling at her hands with a yellow cloth. Her hair is swept away from her face into a ponytail, a floral apron is tied at her waist. She looks warm, matronly, and the smell of home-cooked food filters into the air around him from inside. Taecyeon cannot fathom that this is the woman Junho refuses to speak of.

“Can I help you?” She asks, and her voice pulls Taecyeon from whatever reverie he’s slipped into. He smiles politely and extends his hand. 

“I’m Dr. Ok Taecyeon,” he begins― he’d planned for this― and she takes his hand and shakes it lightly. “I sent you a letter last month about―”

“Oh yes. From the hospital,” she recalls, her voice airy. Taecyeon nods, a little shocked. So she had opened it, read it possibly. 

He hesitates, and then continues carefully, “About your son.” At the last word something in her gaze turns to ice. 

“I don’t have a son.” Her voice is just as cold, and so is the blood in Taecyeon’s veins. His smile shakes on his mouth until it slides off completely. Mrs. Lee stares up at him, her eyes calm, unblinking. Remorseless.

“Lee Junho―” Taecyeon tries again, but she gives a sudden, brusque shake of her head that cuts him off. 

“I’m sorry, Doctor, but you have the wrong information,” she says with finality, and she begins to take a step back, and then the door is closing. Taecyeon holds up a hand to stop it impulsively, and she glares up at him, affronted. “How dare―?”

“I’m his husband,” Taecyeon speaks firmly, and Mrs. Lee’s eyes widen, the lines around her mouth deepen before a glare spreads over her face and darkens her gaze. “I’m your son-in-law.” Taecyeon stares down into her eyes, and her grip slackens on the door, Taecyeon’s pressure forcing it open once again. She remains still in front of him, but for the hand that rises to clutch at the cross about her neck. 

“ _Leave. Now_.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, her knuckles are white about her pendant. But Taecyeon remains insistent. 

“Junho was attacked. Someone hurt him. He needs his famil―”

Mrs. Lee draws back violently, and Taecyeon thinks she’s about to be truly sick― until something warm and wet hits his face, covers his glasses, stopping him mid-speech. He reaches up to tear them off his face, and then the front door slams shut. 

Taecyeon can’t shake the slimy feeling from his skin even two hours later when he’s heading to the elevator in the apartment building. He’d washed his face in a public restroom at a nearby fast food joint and driven like hell, far, far away from that house and from that woman. He pushed the button for their floor in a bit of a daze. _Junho_. Taecyeon knew what kind of upbringing Junho had had, but…

He drops his face in his hands as the elevator rises, far too slowly, from the underground garage and approaches their apartment. _I’m so sorry this happened to you,_ he thinks, as Junho’s face flashes across his mind. _All of it._

The doors pull aside and he drags himself out, his white coat hanging from one hand and his bag drooping from his shoulder. It’s around nine― earlier than he usually gets home, but he’s wiped out. He turns the key in the lock and shuts the door behind him, heaving a painful sigh. He steps out of his shoes into the living room―

“HAHA!”

Taecyeon stops dead in his tracks at Junho’s hearty laugh, and he curses when he feels something tickle at his calf, dropping his bag on the floor in surprise. A black cat slinks away from him and disappears behind the sofa, and Taecyeon whirls his head in the direction of the door again. His feet carry him over there as more laughter flows from the direction of the kitchen. An extra pair of shoes he hadn’t noticed sits next to his own, and Taecyeon glares at them, one single thought echoing in his mind. 

_Hwang Chansung is in my house_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no intentions of criticizing Abrahamic religion or Christianity. This is simply a common plot device I am using to explore the themes of homophobia. I don't mean to offend anyone. I think all belief systems are beautiful. :)


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Chansung.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry I missed last week-- it was kinda hectic. But as a reward for your patience (and an apology), a double post with a treat (twist?)!!

Chansung looks like Keanu Reeves. 

And that’s exactly what Junho blurts out when he opens the door because it’s almost the same-- big nose, big eyes, big mouth-- but in a tall-dark-and-handsome, ethnically ambiguous way that Junho didn’t think could exist off of a movie screen. He gapes at him, and Chansung stands there for almost an entire second, blinking dumbly as the words process. Then he throws his head back and laughs. 

“You said that the first time we met,” he chuckles, and his eyes swivel upwards and around as he thinks out loud, “Well, the other first time.” He gives Junho a shy, closed-mouth smile this time, and peers down at the load in his arms. Junho drops his gaze and--

“Wha-- my babies!” He coos at the large carrying case Chansung is holding, bending at the waist and peering through the metal grate. Bright green eyes peer back at him, and he catches sight of Johnny’s tell-tale leopard spots. His heart swells, and he backs out of the doorway so Chansung can step inside. “I didn’t think you’d be able to come-- it’s kind of late.” Junho babbles, as Chansung kicks off his shoes at the in-step and progresses into the living room, peering around. 

Junho momentarily wonders if he should introduce himself, but that’s silly because Chansung knows who he is-- it’s the opposite that isn’t true. Chansung laughs again, setting the case down on the sofa and popping open the door. Wolie springs out at once, and Junho gasps. Something in his stomach drops-- they aren’t kittens anymore. 

“No, it’s no problem. I wanted to see you, so…” Junho’s eyes stray back upwards as Chansung trails off, as Johnny scampers around one of Chansung’s calves and then paws at the coffee table. Junho nods, grateful. He sinks to his knees and grabs Wolie around the middle before she can get away, and it’s strange-- her weight, her long limbs. 

One of her paws digs into his forearm and he feels the slight pinch of trimmed claws, and he smiles as she stares at the far wall, totally ignoring him. “Daddy’s gone completely crazy, huh Wol-ah?” he mutters to her, and she peers at him and gives a slow, lazy blink that all but confirms what he’s said. Junho grins and kisses her face, her whiskers prickling at his mouth. 

“Wow,” Chansung says-- and Junho glances at him, standing slowly and bouncing Wolie in one arm like a baby. Chansung stuffs his hands in his jeans' pockets, his mouth tilting in very confused, very uncertain slope that shows in the wrinkle between his brows. He takes a step forward, dropping his eyes to Wolie, a few strands of his hair falling onto his forehead. He lifts an absent hand to push it all back with his fingers, and then he meets Junho’s gaze again. “Can I hug you?” He asks tentatively.

Junho furrows his brow-- he doesn’t know how good of friends they were, but this guy was keeping his cats for the last few years so--what the hell. 

“Why not?” he exhales, letting Wolie leap from his arms. A genuinely happy smile starts to spread over Chansung’s lips. He extends his arms out to his sides, and Junho steps into them without pretense, unsure what to expect or whether to expect anything at all. Chansung sighs and squeezes him and-- it’s a nice hug. His arms close snugly about Junho’s waist and give the tiniest of jiggles that makes Junho settle into the embrace. 

Junho lets his own arms rise and wrap around the width of Chansung’s back, drops his chin onto his shoulder and his eyes suddenly burn because-- he can’t remember the last time someone hugged him like they really felt something-- like he really mattered. And when your mother wants nothing to do with you it’s _hard_ to feel like you matter.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” Chansung sighs, and Junho bites down on his bottom lip, his breaths suddenly freezing in his lungs. He blinks quickly and wills the heat moistening his eyes to subside. He waits until Chansung lets go to give himself more time, and when he feels Chansung start to draw away he drops his face immediately and turns away with a hand in his hair. In his periphery he sees Chansung’s tilted face, peering closely at him, and Junho curses to himself. Why can’t he get a grip?

He clears his throat and rubs at his nose, spotting Johnny near the TV. He crosses the room and crouches on the floor next to him, nudging the heels of his palms against his eyes. 

It feels like forever before Chansung breaks the silence again. “I-uh, I brought my computer if you want to see some work…?” He suggests, the pitch of his voice rising at the end like it’s a question. Junho nods, running his hand between Johnny’s ears and then pushing himself off of the floor again. Chansung is still standing awkwardly near the long sofa, his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. Junho pushes a smile onto his face, and Chansung’s eyes brighten a fraction. 

“Sounds good,” Junho’s find Chansung’s bag near the couch. “Let’s order a pizza.”

A few hours and three slices of pepperoni later, the four of them are in the kitchen-- Junho is holding Johnny in his lap at the island and Chansung is next to him finishing off the first box of pizza. Wolie paws at the fridge until, disappointed when it doesn’t open, she slinks off in the direction of the living room. Junho turns back to lean closer to the laptop Chansung set up in front of them. 

“You’ve been working on this for a few months,” Chansung explains around his food, and Junho wrinkles his eyebrows in confusion at the screen. It looks like old school videogame graphics-- there’s a fuzzy brown square at the bottom he guesses is the ground and a huge swath of blue that has to be sky. Chansung points a chubby finger at the screen. “So this is for the pilot,” he hits a key and something like a compass and a translucent ruler-looking thing pop up over what’s already there. 

“The pilot looks at this and sees altitude, pressure, direction, things like that,” he turns to Junho and Junho nods in understanding, running his hand down the length of Johnny’s silky back. 

“Don’t you have to be in a plane to see this?” Junho asks, feeling a little like he's back in the classroom. Or in the library with Taecyeon. Chansung shakes his head while taking a long sip of his coke. He sets it back down and hits some more keys. Junho blinks-- he can’t believe he does anything like this. He always liked computers, but programming? It was more of a hobby. His mother thought it was silly and that medicine was where the money was, so that was where he went. His good mood sours a little at the thought of her, his eyes droop on the screen. 

“This is just the simulator.” Chansung lifts his pizza from his plate and devours what’s left of the crust.

Junho lifts Johnny in his arms and stares up into his face with a smile. “See that? Your daddy is cool,” he chuckles, and Johnny just peers off to the side, uninterested. Chansung dusts his hands together, watching them. Junho faces him as he lets Johnny slip from his grasp. 

“So do you do the same thing?”

Chansung lifts his gaze from where Johnny skitters across the kitchen floor to Junho’s own and he nods. A slow, sheepish smile starts to claim his mouth. 

“I actually report to you,” he says, wincing, rubbing his palms back and forth across his thighs. Junho gapes. He looks at the computer, then back at Chansung. 

“I’m your boss?” 

“Yeah,” Chansung says, biting down on his lip despite the smile still threatening its presence there. It starts small, a firecracker in his chest, but then the laughter wells up inside Junho and escapes and he can’t stop it. 

“No way!” he interrupts himself, and just continues laughing again. 

“Ye--” Chansung cuts himself off suddenly, and Junho follows his gaze to the doorway. Taecyeon stands there, staring at them and-- he looks like shit. He scowls, darkening the space around him with his wrinkled shirt and the haphazard slope of his bag on one shoulder. 

“Hey, Taecyeon!” Junho calls out a bit too cheerily, his smile shaky. Taecyeon’s gaze slides to him slowly before it settles back on Chansung. Chansung jumps up from his stool and rounds the island to pad towards Taecyeon, who regards him without even a muscle spasm in his face. Junho’s mirth dies down, and he furrows his eyebrows, irritated as Taecyeon just peers down at the hand Chansung stretches out towards him. 

“Dr. Ok. It’s good to see you again.” Chansung presses his lips together in a polite smile, and Taecyeon clears his throat, shifting his coat to the other hand to shake Chansung’s hand firmly. His jaw twitches in the barest of nods. _Seriously?_ Junho thinks to himself, but he doesn’t move from his place. 

Chansung rubs his hands against the seat of his pants and glances back in Junho’s direction, looking a little flustered. “Mind if I use the restroom?”

Junho nods, “It’s back that way.” He points in the general direction of behind where he’s sitting, and Chansung nods and disappears down the hallway. As soon as Junho hears the door shut, he turns on Taecyeon. “What’s up your butt?” He taunts, and Taecyeon just sighs, pulling open the fridge and-- Junho has to do a double take-- pulls out an entire six pack of beer and clutches it at his side. 

“I had a bad day. I’m going to bed,” he practically whispers, his gaze flitting over Junho quickly. Junho frowns, and watches him turn to leave. Did he hate the cats that much?

Chansung reemerges not a minute later, and Junho sends him an apologetic smile as he rises to his feet. “I should go,” Chansung says, as Junho knew he would.

“I think he’s still mad at me,” Junho lowers his voice, a conspiratorial edge in his voice. Chansung lifts interested brows, and Junho smirks. “I almost set the whole building on fire last night.” Chansung’s eyes widen a fraction, and Junho chuckles at the memory-- Taecyeon’s wild hair and the hazy kitchen, the screaming. “There was smoke _everywhere_.”

Chansung steps close and his fingers light on Junho’s shoulder as he leans in, and Junho tenses a little when he feels Chansung sniff at his hair. “Ah,” Chansung snickers, “So you’re what I’ve been smelling all night.”

Junho covers his mouth with his hand, his cackles slipping off into the silence. “Sorry he was a dick,” he doesn’t even care about whispering anymore. Chansung just lifts his shoulder in an evasive shrug and starts to move towards the living room. Junho follows him with a sigh. They corral Wolie and Johnny back into their case-- Johnny had somehow wandered into the fireplace which, thankfully, was _not_ turned on-- and Junho places a hand on Chansung’s shoulder as he walks him to the door. 

“Thanks for coming,” the words tumble out of his mouth uselessly. He’s really upset at how Taecyeon acted and he wants to say more, but apologies were never his strong suit. He takes another look down at Johnny and Wolie, pawing each other inside their case, and he wishes they could stay. Or that he could go. He raises his eyes back to meet Chansung’s smiling gaze. “It really means a lot.”

“Anything,” Chansung utters, looking him straight in the eye, and Junho believes him without a doubt. He drops his chin and smiles gratefully, pulling the door open. “See you soon?” Chansung asks over his shoulder, his big brown eyes hopeful, looking very much like he should have a tail wagging behind him. Junho chuckles and nods.

“Soon,” he promises. Reassured, Chansung makes his way down the hall and steps into the elevator. Junho waits for the _ding_ to signal it’s taken off before he shuts the front door. He stands there for a minute with his back against it, peering around at the living room furniture, unseeing, and then his eyes narrow in suspicion, in irritation. _Taecyeon_.

He charges through the living room, through the kitchen and past the bathroom and pushes Taecyeon’s door open without knocking. But he instantly wishes he had done otherwise. 

Taecyeon freezes when Junho does. Junho remains in the doorway for a skipped heartbeat that feels much longer, his hand poised on the silver knob and Taecyeon-- Taecyeon is midway through pulling his white button-down over his shoulders, peering cautiously at him. Junho drops his hands to his sides and continues into the room, turning his nose up just a little so he appears undeterred. 

Taecyeon finishes what he’s started, tugging his shirt off completely and turning his back to Junho as he moves to the closet and hangs it back up. _Fuck you_ , Junho curses in his mind, because Taecyeon is all muscle underneath, tan and sinewy like he was last night during the whole fire fiasco. But last night, Junho’s brain was fuzzy with sleep and that fuzziness made him doubt Taecyeon _really_ looked that good wearing only a pair of boxers. 

Junho swallows, his eyes marking up every inch of Taecyeon’s wide back, the red waistband at his waist peeking out above his belted slacks. He squeezes his eyes shut. Yes, he married a man. That much he had accepted by now. But one like this? These days it wasn’t the ring on his finger that kept him up at night-- no. It was Taecyeon’s physical existence. His textbook masculinity. The fact that Junho had to go and find the walking epitome of a man and make him his own. He sighs and narrows his eyes, his anger only growing. He is very much deterred. 

“Why were you so rude to my guest?” He bites out, wrenching his eyes back open to see Taecyeon turning from the closet, his spectacled gaze meeting Junho’s briefly before he moves to take a beer from the bedside table. Junho watches him tip his head back to take a long sip. He chews on the inside of his mouth. Taecyeon wipes at the corner of his lips and stands directly in front of him, peering down into his face. 

Junho clenches his jaw, willing his eyes to stay on Taecyeon’s face and not drop to the very impressive, very distracting chest just a few inches away from him. 

“Why did you invite him over when I wasn’t here?” Taecyeon responds, his voice stiff. “I said not to.” Junho pulls a face, crossing his arms and shaking his head in bewilderment. 

“No you didn’t.” He can’t remember Taecyeon ever saying anything of the sort. Taecyeon taps a finger against the neck of the bottle he holds near one hip. 

“I said to let me call him,” he amends, his voice a little softer now that he’s realized his error. But still Junho rolls his eyes and brings them back to shoot Taecyeon a dirty glare. 

“So what,” Junho grumbles, the space between his eyebrows twitches, tense. “I have to do everything you _say_? Are you my father?”

Taecyeon sniffs and turns away with a dismissive shake of his head. Junho gapes at him as he steps towards the bed and takes a seat at the edge, squinting. Taecyeon swirls his bottle around in his hand, and his eyes come up to Junho again in the dimness of the lamplight. 

“Did you two go out?”

Junho snorts. “ _No_ ,” he does falter a little at the sudden shift in conversation, but he’s able to keep his tone patronizing. He wanted to see his cats. Why the hell would they go anywhere?

Taecyeon blinks slowly, and Junho wonders if he’s drunk already. He wonders what kind of a drunk he is. “So why are you wearing those jeans?”

“B-” Junho fumbles again on his retort and looks down at himself abruptly. He scowls up at Taecyeon, who just watches him, something like anxiety marring his brow. “Because I had a _guest_ ,” Junho says as if it’s obvious-- because it is obvious. But then he realizes he’s explaining himself, and he doesn’t know why he feels the need to answer any of Taecyeon’s inane, drunk questions. 

He groans in frustration, not missing Taecyeon’s concerned glance. Junho’s eyes drop to the beer in Taecyeon’s hand, and then they travel to the bedside table, where the rest of the six-pack sits, sweating a tiny puddle that leaks over the dark wood and drips onto the carpet. Junho’s breath catches at what else he sees. 

“Self-prescribing?” he stomps over to the nightstand and plucks the pill bottle into his hands, scanning the label. _Valium. 10mg. Dr. Kim Yubin._ Junho’s eyes narrow-- it could be a legitimate prescription, but still something flares deep inside him. Anger. Irritation. Disappointment. “You’re not a drug addict are you?” He pours every ounce of disgust creeping around his stomach into his voice, and Taecyeon rolls his eyes and stands. 

“Give them back.” He holds his hand out, not even defending himself. Junho swings his own hand with the pills behind his back, lifting his chin defiantly. Taecyeon narrows his eyes at him, his nostrils flare, and he bristles at Junho like some kind of animal. Junho feels the corner of his mouth curl up into a sneer when Taecyeon clenches his jaw. “Junho, this is ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Junho snaps, feeling like a petulant child and knowing he sounds like one. “What am I supposed to do if you die in your sleep?” 

Taecyeon peers at him and raises one shoulder in a defeated shrug. “What do you care?”

“I don’t,” Junho manages not to stammer, and when Taecyeon’s eyes spring back and forth between Junho’s, Junho sees pain in them. His chest pangs at the sight of it, but words spill from his mouth before he can contain them. “What do I even see in you? How can I like someone so pathetic?”

And something in the air shifts, Taecyeon takes a brisk step closer, his face mere inches from Junho’s, threatening, but Junho refuses to take a step back. He stares, hard, into Taecyeon’s eyes. 

“ _You, you, you_ ,” Taecyeon almost hisses, his eyes flicking up and down Junho’s body. “It’s all about _you_. What _you_ like, what _you_ want.” His fingers close about Junho’s wrist and lift Junho’s left hand, pointing a jerky finger at Junho’s ring. “You see this?” Junho purses his lips and wrenches his hand from Taecyeon’s grip, but Taecyeon keeps going, his eyes never leaving Junho’s. “We’re _married_. That means there isn’t just _you_ or _me_ anymore. It’s _us_. It’s what _we_ like, what _we_ want.”

Junho blinks, his hand squeezing around the pill bottle he still clutches behind his back. Taecyeon laughs bitterly, his eyes skimming over Junho’s face and-- Junho suppresses a shiver-- down the length of his neck. “Fuck you,” he mumbles, because he can read the attraction there and because has nothing else to say. He doesn’t want to stand here and argue pronouns with Taecyeon. He decides to put the damn pills back--

“You want to know what you like?” Taecyeon asks, a menacing edge in his voice. Junho feels the beginnings of panic settling in, slimy little tendrils that set his hair on end, roughen his skin with tightened pores. Taecyeon sets his beer on the nightstand, reaching up to straighten his glasses but not relinquishing their eye contact. “You like it when I shove my dick down your throat.”

Junho’s expression slips from his face, and Taecyeon’s dark irises follow the trail of hot shame that courses up Junho’s neck and lights his face with a blush. A smirk inches across Taecyeon’s mouth, cruel, his voice is smooth, conversational when he cocks his head and continues, “You like to return the favor.” His eyes flick over every part of Junho's face, lingering so long near Junho's mouth he can almost feel it.

“Shut up,” Junho mutters, his mouth tight, lips barely moving to form the words. Taecyeon stares him right in the eye and steps closer. The room feels smaller and it's hard to catch his breath. Junho’s pulse is racing.

“You like to keep yourself clean--”

“Shut up!” Junho’s hands lurch out and shove Taecyeon square in the chest. Taecyeon staggers backwards so his calves hit the bed, but he’s strong, he stays on his feet and soon he’s crowding Junho again, all the muscles in his neck and shoulders tense, his face so close Junho can see tiny beads of sweat just at his hairline, the dark outline of stubble growing above his lip, and Junho’s face and neck are hot, feverish and he’s _pissed_.

“--because you like it when I _fuck_ you--”

Junho’s spine rattles with a shiver when he feels Taecyeon’s breath hit his face, smells the alcohol from his mouth.

"-- _hard_ \--"

“Shut the hell--”

“--on your hands and knees--”

Junho’s mind goes blank. His chest tightens and he registers his knuckles popping, the give of bone, cartilage, and _flesh_ beneath them, and then it burns and throbs, but Taecyeon is _silent_. He blinks-- consciousness seeps back in. Taecyeon is half-sitting-half lying on the bed, clutching his mouth. Junho turns, panting-- Taecyeon’s glasses lay on the floor. Taecyeon scoffs, and when he pulls his fingers from his lips, there’s shiny red blood. More of it blooms from his bottom lip and dribbles down his chin. 

His eyes flit up to meet Junho’s, and Junho stands there, his breaths heavy, chest heaving as a smirk breaks onto his face. He’s exhilarated-- his bruising fist is still clamped shut and his own blood whooshes in his ears. He tosses the pills, and they bounce uselessly on the mattress. Taecyeon, Junho thinks, meeting the intent look in his eyes, is an asshole. He deserves a black eye to go with that fat lip but he’s got balls. He’s bold. He’s challenging. And Junho _likes_ that.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Wooyoung.

“Something on your mind?”

Minjun glances up from where he had zoned out on the painting in front of him. Wooyoung is standing behind him, holding the two glasses of white wine he said he would go and get. Minjun shakes his head and lets out a short laugh, taking the glass by the stem. Wooyoung smirks disbelievingly and slides next to him, his eyes on the piece of art that caught Minjun’s attention, and Minjun pulls his eyes away from Wooyoung’s handsome profile to have another look. 

A group of women in long brightly colored skirts and loose white blouses sit and stand beneath the generous shade of a looming green tree. None of their faces are visible-- the woman closest to the viewer is facing the tree, and the play of lights and shadows upon the nape of her neck implies she’s speaking to the woman crouching on the ground next to her, but her face is downturned towards the bundle in her hands. 

“Something’s on your mind,” Wooyoung says softly, still examining the painting, and Minjun is about to object when he feels the tickle of Wooyoung’s hand at his waist, the growing warmth and pressure of his arm snaking around to hold him. He peers around when their bodies click together at their sides, no one spares them a glance. He blinks quickly and drops his gaze to his glass, staring at the pale amber fluid before he takes a nervous sip. 

They have only been seeing each other for a month-- and this is their fourth real date. An art auction downtown. Wooyoung knows the dealers and--

_“You’re something of a collector, aren’t you?” Wooyoung asks, in that intelligent, cultured manner of speaking he has that makes Minjun self-conscious, despite all his years of education. It makes him even more self-conscious when Wooyoung’s breath curls beneath the shell of his ear in the darkness of the theater where they sit, huddled together in seats that are far too close._

_“Not a collector,” Minjun chuckles. “There are just a few artists that I like.” Wooyoung’s features, what Minjun can make out in the dark, shift in understanding. His eyes stray for one minute before they return, and when he leans on the armrest between them, Minjun knows a question is coming. A suggestion, an offer, something of that sort. But it doesn’t matter, because whatever Wooyoung has to say, Minjun’s answer is_ yes.

Minjun keeps pace with him when an insistent palm guides him further down the wide hall lined with paintings and the occasional sculpture. 

“Did you like that one?” Wooyoung leads him towards the work of another artist despite his question, his face turning to peer into Minjun’s eyes. Minjun shakes his head-- he has the fleeting urge to step away, but he doesn’t. 

“Not really,” he replies, and he feels the burn of Wooyoung’s eyes on him when he moves a little to drink more of his wine. Wooyoung nods to acquaintances here and there, tips his glass to others in their scattered points in the huge room. Among these artists and art enthusiasts Wooyoung blends in in his dark suit and undone collar, the tousled mess atop his head that he calls hair makes him look every bit the part of a starving artist.

Minjun peers around a little bug-eyed. He’s never felt so out of place. He likes a few artists. He likes certain pieces. But he can’t name a century’s movements, or the politics behind a work like Wooyoung can. He can’t distinguish sexuality from sensuality in a brush stroke the way that Wooyoung can, eloquently. 

He looks back in the direction of the painting of the women beneath the tree. He didn’t like it. It wasn’t his typical style, and while it was beautiful, he prefers the clean lines of Surrealism, the jarring images and innuendo one can usually discern from the canvas rather than the fuzzy swirls of color in that Impressionist work. But something about the women's faces, or lack thereof, had resonated deeply with him.

He doesn’t realize they’ve gone outside until the cool, summer night wind hits his face. They're on the roof of the building, Minjun sees the haphazard skyline cutting through the endless violet overhead. He peers down-- he still has his wine. Wooyoung’s glass is gone. The door shuts with a heavy metallic clang and Wooyoung stops in front of him, Minjun’s gasp rising to escape at the surface. 

“Something is on your mind,” Wooyoung says again, his voice soft in the darkness surrounding them. Minjun stares into his eyes and he gives him an evasive shake of his head. 

“It’s work,” he admits. “I’m sorry.” It is sort of true. Junho is his friend, but he’s also his patient. When he leaves the office he tries to leave everything he heard in that room _in that room_ , but tiny little details slipped beneath the door and followed him home this weekend. The fight. The punch. He sighs, clears his mind, and peers at Wooyoung with a forced smile. 

Wooyoung sticks his lips out thoughtfully. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Minjun laughs, “No!” That’s the last thing he wants to do. That was how his last relationship tanked-- he shakes his head again, and he’s sure he looks crazy. “No,” he says a bit more softly. Wooyoung considers him silently for a moment, and then Minjun feels his warm palm light tenderly on his face. He forces himself to meet the soulful gaze captured in those uneven eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. 

They’ve kissed exactly twice, and Minjun is eager for that third, but he doesn’t want to be the one to initiate it. Wooyoung smiles slowly, and Minjun feels the muscles in his face relax to mirror it. “I’m here if you ever want to tell me,” he murmurs, and Minjun makes a soft noise when he feels the tickle of Wooyoung’s thumb brush at the underside of his bottom lip. He blinks, frozen in place, staring into Wooyoung’s eyes. 

“But until then, I want you to forget whatever it is and have fun.” Minjun’s lip tingles when the pad of Wooyoung’s finger grazes just at the seam of his mouth. He tilts his chin up, his eyelids starting to droop in anticipation. “With me,” Wooyoung adds, and Minjun feels his breath on his lips as his breathing starts to change pace. 

He nods, just barely, and then there’s _pressure_ , and he feels Wooyoung’s sigh just below his nose as their lips fit together securely. Wooyoung’s moan vibrates in Minjun’s mouth and he reaches out to clutch at Wooyoung’s back, pressing their bodies close. His wine glass teeters precariously where it's pinned between his fingers and Wooyoung's jacket. Wooyoung draws away, and Minjun opens dazed eyes to see the sly smile settling on his kiss-shiny lips. 

“Ok?” he affirms, but Minjun just blinks up at him. 

“Ok,” he says breathlessly, even though he has no recollection of what he’s agreeing to. 

*

Minjun knew this was a bad idea. All of Taecyeon’s ideas were bad ideas but being Junho’s psychiatrist during his recovery? That took the cake and he _knew_ it, but he somehow got himself along for the ride. He should have known, sitting across from Taecyeon in that bistro, seeing the tense set of Taecyeon’s shoulders and premature wrinkles around his eyes. He shakes his head and rubs at his eyes, sighing. 

He should have been more cautious, more clinical-- but Taecyeon hates it when Minjun tries to read him, so he spared him his habit of psychoanalysis. But when Junho came in the next day-- 

_  
“I punched him,” Junho announces, a crazed, proud glint in his eyes that gives Minjun a start._

_“Excuse me?” he prompts quietly, shocked, even though he thinks he understood quite well._

_“I punched him in the face--”_

_“--Taecyeon?”_

_“Yeah,” Junho grins, “I busted his lip because he deserved it--”_

Minjun throws his head back with another sigh. _His friends_. He should have seen the fire brewing. He leans down to move the extra armchair next to the one he usually reserved for patients. They face the huge bay windows overlooking the courtyard because it’s comforting. With a view of the sky, of the clouds, of the sun, a patient will feel that they have freedom. They can see that there is indeed a light at the end of that long, winding proverbial tunnel, and that they are the ones in control of their destination. 

Minjun turns to peer out of that window. Today the sky is grey, and rain beats steadily upon the glass. He moves the little table closer to the center and stands back, admiring his handiwork. He glances up at the two knocks at his office door, and his secretary, Jackson pokes his head in. 

“Your 9:30 is in, doc.”

Minjun smiles at the young man and waves a welcoming hand despite the dread he feels. “Send them in.” Jackson reappears and steps inside completely this time, holding the door open as his first appointment this Friday morning files in. Junho and Taecyeon are quite the sight. He purses his lips for a fleeting second but manages to mask his disappointment with a smile when their eyes find him waiting in front of his own chair. 

Junho meets him first, looking well-rested, something like eagerness sparkling in his eyes when he stretches a hand out for Minjun to shake. Minjun gestures for him to sit as Taecyeon circles around the remaining chair with his hands in the pockets of his physician’s coat, his face drawn into a scowl. Minjun’s stomach clenches at the tiny gash marring Taecyeon’s bottom lip. 

“Dr. Ok,” Minjun greets him tightly, not hiding his disapproval. Taecyeon winces when Minjun squeezes his hand a little too hard. 

“Dr. Kim.” Taecyeon has to tug his hand away before he sits down in the chair next to Junho, who shifts and folds his hands in his lap, oblivious. Minjun takes his seat and flips open his moleskine, clutching his pen and leveling the pair with a serious expression. 

“Marriage counseling--” Junho snorts in derision-- “is not my forte. However, Junho told me something startling happened last week, and I thought it would be helpful to have you here today, Dr. Ok, to get everything out in the open.” He meets both of their gazes, and they nod back to him, expressions sober like scolded students before the principal’s desk. 

“Great,” Minjun smiles, “Now, Junho why don’t you begin? Tell me again what happened last week.” He lowers his eyes to his notebook to scribble today’s date, _Joint session with Taecyeon_. 

“I punched Taecyeon in the mouth,” A corner of Junho’s lips quirks just so, but he doesn’t smile this time. Minjun is almost surprised he possesses the tact not to laugh in Taecyeon’s face. 

“Yes,” Minjun utters patiently, gesturing for Junho to continue. “Before that. Tell me the events leading up to then.”

“Oh,” Junho pouts, and Minjun has to take the moment to marvel at him-- his cute face is the perfect disguise for the damage he can inflict. Minjun’s gaze wanders to Taecyeon. He sits, staring at the table blankly, not blinking, his split lip drawn down in a frown. “So, I have two cats and they live with this guy I guess I’m friends with? So I called him and he brought them over.”

Minjun nods in understanding-- Chansung. He’s met him a few times. He works for Junho and he’s a nice enough guy, but--

“And Taecyeon came home and he was _rude_ ,” Junho casts Taecyeon a glare that goes ignored. “After Chansung left I asked him what was up and he just said he had a bad day or something. He was drinking and taking pills--”

“Wait a minute,” Taecyeon cuts in, his brow furrowed in earnest. Minjun turns his attention onto him. “I don’t abuse prescription pills, Min--” he catches himself just as Minjun’s eyes widen a fraction in warning. “Dr. Kim,” he corrects himself swiftly. Junho doesn’t notice the interchange. “They were given to me by a colleague.” He holds Minjun’s gaze, and Minjun nods, satisfied. He believes him. He knows him. “I wasn’t going to take them.”

Junho scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Whatever. So I took the pills and he was like ‘give them back’ and I was like ‘no’ and then he started saying some crap about how I just talk about myself--”

“Because you do,” Taecyeon interjects, and Junho stares at him incredulously before carrying on. 

“No I don’t, shut up.” He turns back to Minjun. “Anyway, he does that and it pisses me off and then something happens and he starts talking about--” Junho's motor mouth suddenly falters, and Minjun glances up from his notes to see the shells of Junho’s ears have reddened considerably. He nods encouragingly, but Junho’s mouth opens and closes mutely. Taecyeon peers at the side of Junho’s face before he fixes his gaze on Minjun. 

“About sex,” Taecyeon finishes for him, and Minjun’s eyes snap in his direction. Taecyeon heaves a sigh and stares at Minjun tiredly. “I mentioned our sex life.” Minjun blinks once, twice, and he hears the leathery slide of Junho slipping down into his seat.

“Why?” Minjun asks, tilting his head curiously at Taecyeon. Taecyeon shrugs.

“To piss him off.”

Minjun purses his lips, and takes a moment to look at both of them. “And this is what caused things to escalate?” Taecyeon nods. Junho remains silent, refusing eye contact. His cheeks are a little pink. “Junho, why did that topic anger you?”

Junho’s eyes harden but they still do not rise to Minjun’s face. He scuffs one of his sneakers against the rug, crossing his arms over his stomach. “I don’t want to think about that,” his voice comes out low, monotone. Of course-- the idea of intimacy with Taecyeon, a man, would be repulsive to Junho, or at least something he knows he should find repulsive but probably does not. Something in Minjun’s chest aches, but he swallows, pushes it down and summons what objectivity he can muster to write his observations down. 

Minjun doesn’t need to know the specifics of what was said. He’s sure it will be embarrassing, and besides, he can already guess given Junho’s response. He scoots forward to the edge of his seat and begins to ask Junho another question but he stops short. The light just catches the sheen of wetness Minjun sees in Junho’s downcast eyes, and Minjun’s lips seal. This is completely different from last week, where they focused on the violence, on how it felt for Junho to hit Taecyeon. Junho was different. There were no tears. He was elated. 

Minjun clears his throat and turns to Taecyeon, who is peering at Junho with obvious concern in his eyes. Minjun’s own eyes soften at the affection he sees there, etched clearly in the worn lines of Taecyeon’s face. “Taecyeon,” he speaks softly, and Taecyeon’s gaze moves to meet his own. Minjun smiles gently at him. “Can you tell us why you were so upset when you got home? Did something happen at work?” Minjun’s guess was a patient’s death, or something horrible like that.

Taecyeon stares at him, and then his eyes drop to his own hands where his fingers are steepled in his lap. His ensuing laugh is self-deprecating. “I went to see Junho’s mother.” A long silence follows. Minjun blinks at Taecyeon, and Junho’s face rears up in Minjun’s periphery. Junho’s mother? Minjun doesn’t have to prompt Taecyeon to continue. He settles back into his chair and runs one hand through his hair, sweeping it away from a stress-wrinkled forehead. 

“She knew about-- what happened--” he doesn’t meet Junho’s eyes, purposefully, Minjun knows, because the incident and Junho’s amnesia is the elephant looming, immense, in the corner of the room. He scratches at his scalp, and Minjun’s chest tightens and his ears perk up to hang on to his friend’s every word. Taecyeon chuckles again, the bitter smile and flash of his teeth a stark contrast to the misery dimming his eyes. “She’s known for a while, actually. I thought that she would come and see him, support him--” he trails off, and Minjun casts a subtle glance in Junho’s direction.

Junho watches Taecyeon silently, a hand clasped over his mouth, brows pinched in an anguish Minjun empathizes far too easily with. He turns back at the sound of Taecyeon’s sigh. 

“Did she know who you are? That you’re Junho’s husband?” Minjun says the words firmly, and he doesn’t miss Junho’s damp eyes sharply seeking out his own, but he keeps his gaze pinned on Taecyeon. Taecyeon nods, running two fingers down the length of his silver tie absently. 

“I told her.”

“And?”

Taecyeon peers up at him, and there’s raw anger swirling around in there with that pain. “She spat in my face,” he says matter-of-factly. Junho gasps, and Minjun suppresses the urge to curse her-- because this is his _friend, damnit_ , they both are-- but he takes a deep breath and remains cool. Junho doesn’t move. He simply stares at Taecyeon’s profile openly, his mouth slightly agape in a mixture of shock, horror, different emotions Minjun can’t name but finds all too appropriate.

“Junho,” Minjun starts, and Junho has to tear his eyes away from Taecyeon whose gaze has meandered towards the window. “Can I have a minute alone with Dr. Ok? Our hour is almost up, so I’ll see you again next week.” 

Junho bites down on his lip and nods, “Sure.” Minjun smiles up at him as he rises and moves towards the door. He peers over his shoulder at Taecyeon before he opens the door and shuts it behind himself. Taecyeon doesn’t see it. 

Minjun transplants himself into Junho’s chair and leans across the arm towards Taecyeon. Taecyeon sends him a sad smile. “You’re different in psychiatrist-mode,” he comments, and Minjun laughs softly. He reaches out to take Taecyeon’s hand in both of his. Taecyeon looks miserable, and the urge to cry wells up inside of Minjun, a heavy ball in his chest. He squeezes Taecyeon's hand, slightly comforted when Taecyeon gives a gentle squeeze in return. 

“Was that the first time you ever met her?” he inclines his face to Taecyeon, who just nods. The rain patters harder against the window, and Taecyeon turns momentarily to watch it. 

“It sure explains a lot of the hell I’ve had to deal with,” his voice is rough. Minjun knows what he means-- Junho’s attitude. The hateful, ignorant remarks. His fear. It’s the truth, but it certainly isn’t an excuse, and at some point Junho realized that for himself. He gives Taecyeon’s hand another little squeeze. 

“You know, I wanted to punch you, too, you little punk,” Taecyeon snickers at that, and Minjun catches the laugh like a cold. It tumbles from his chest, and at the sight of a smile on Taecyeon’s face, relief almost overwhelms him. “Try not to shove it in his face, ok? I know how you feel, but it’s really not helpful.”

Taecyeon nods, his brows tight. “I know what to do.”

Minjun lifts his brows in curiosity at the grin that begins to play across Taecyeon’s wounded mouth. “Do you? What are you going to do?”

Taecyeon’s eyes grow steely behind his glasses, resolve glistening in them, looking very much like the Ok Taecyeon Minjun knows and has begun to miss. “I’m going to make Junho fall in love with me again.”


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks later.

Junho awakes sweaty, feverish. He was in some place doing some _thing_ really important, really _good_ with some _one_ ― but he’s not anymore and it’s _annoying_. His own breaths grow over the blood rushing in his ears as labored, tiny rasps in the dark silence enveloping his bedroom. He lies there. His eyes flutter open slowly until the ceiling looms clearly overhead, a blackened, starless sky. He tosses his heavy comforter aside, still panting, but more evenly now. 

Perspiration tickles at the back of his neck and along his hairline, evaporates, and his skin cools. His t-shirt sticks to the moist layer on his chest and lower back. He takes one deep breath, and then another, his lungs filling and emptying repeatedly until the remnants of sleep dissipate and he gasps, conscious. A pleasant burn pools in his lower abdomen. His eyes widen, and he shifts his legs and― he’s _hard_.

“Ah,” he murmurs aloud, surprised, forcing his eyes shut at the sharp tingle he feels when his briefs rub against the flesh trapped beneath them because this feeling is new. He furrows his brows. It’s not _new_ , in the sense it’s unfamiliar. No, it’s the opposite. It’s very familiar, he just hasn’t felt this feeling in a very long time. 

He bites his bottom lip and lifts up onto his elbows to look and, sure enough, the shadows in the dark room and the little bit of light from the window fold over the obvious tent disrupting his briefs. He slides a hand down towards it, remaining on his back, groaning when his palm closes over his erection through fabric. He settles back onto his pillow and slips his hand beneath the stretchy band and hears the sound of his own voice spilling out in a soft moan. 

He rubs and pulls at a slow, experimental pace first, because it feels like years since he’s done this― since anyone has done this to him― and his feet slide up the mattress and his toes curl around the sheet below as pleasure spikes, a fire below his navel and a heavy pressure tightening his sack. His top and bottom eyelids squeeze at one another, and in the dark behind them bits of dream still cleave to the edges of his mind. 

It comes back in pieces: heat from another body, a continuous breath that originates either in his own lungs or in his companion’s; there’s a vague heaviness against him, a form his hands cannot quite touch but feels like a hot liquid in them, filling the creases of his palms before it’s gone completely and he loses it. He grunts behind bitten lips, and his hips begin to rock back and forth between his hand and the mattress― this bed is silent, unlike the cheap one he remembers from his apartment in school― but he hopes the sounds escaping his mouth can’t be heard. 

He pushes his briefs from his hips and kicks them off and lets his legs fall open, and he sighs when the fine sheets _sing_ against his bare skin, his hand coiled tight around his hard length. His thumb finds the fluid collecting at his tip and his teeth have to cut off the sudden moan that rips out of him. He pushes himself over onto his side, panting, then rolls onto his stomach, slipping his forearm beneath his eyes and resting his weight onto it as his knees dig into the mattress for better leverage.

_“You like it when I fuck you.”_

The words emerge from the foggy pit clouding his mind, close to a whisper. And something strange happens. Junho chokes out a moan when he feels it, a contraction, a muscle spasm in his― _inside_ him― and suddenly he’s all too aware of the chilled air rushing over his bare backside. The pores on his ass cheeks tighten―

_“Hard.”_

―and so does the opening between them. It clenches, over and over, empty and wanting, and Junho’s noise is guttural, shocked, confused. But his hips thrust raggedly in time with his strokes and each drag from tip to hilt makes his cock harder, slicker with pre-ejaculate―

_“On your hands and knees.”_

His teeth sink into his bottom lip and the images, the sensations from before he awoke trickle back in and consume him. He couldn’t breathe. Flesh pressed against every bit of his own and left him no room, no freedom, but he didn’t want it anyway. He wanted the body against him, the promise at the end, the inescapable heat, the pain, the pleasure, the desperate _something_ he felt tugging in his chest and radiating, fully returned, from the person holding him. 

Junho groans against his arm. He doesn’t know if this is a dream or a memory but he knows, now, as he squeezes his cock and his hand and hips move faster until his mind goes blank and his shout is pressed, wet with saliva into his pillow as he comes― he knows it is Taecyeon. And when he recovers, breathless, and falls onto his back, his semen cooling on his hand and on the luxurious sheets, a sliver of dread pulls, heavy, at the corners of his eyes.

He steps out of the shower in a bit of a daze. He wipes at the fog coating the mirror and his own face appears before him, and for the first time in a long time, Junho smiles at what he sees. He feels relaxed, down to the tiniest muscle fiber where before there had been only tightness, tension. He brushes his teeth and the towel slung around his waist catches most of the moisture clinging to his body by the time his razor has scraped the last streak of cream and stubble from his jaw.

He pushes the damp flop of his newly cut hair off of his forehead and exits the bathroom with a bit of a spring in his step because that was his first hard-on since waking up from the coma. A proud grin flits across his mouth when he enters the hallway. Dr. Choi and Dr. Kim had warned him. His libido would be virtually non-existent due to the brain trauma and the medications he had received while he was under. But now, now he could tell them that he was very much back in business—

“...it’s 7 A.M.”

Junho pauses at the sound of Taecyeon’s sleepy voice emanating from the kitchen. A shudder rushes down his spine at the gravelly whisper, and Junho grits his teeth and tries hard to convince himself that he’s cold. He’s cold. He hears objects shuffle around, and he figures Taecyeon is on the phone and moves back towards his room—

“I had to come when I knew you would be here.” Junho really freezes this time. It’s a woman. He hears Taecyeon sigh, keys jingle, feet pit-a-pat on hardwood flooring. _Who is she?_ Junho wonders, and he’s skirting along the wall towards the noises, steps light as a mouse. 

“I told you I would come to you,” Taecyeon whispers a bit more fervently, “Junho’s here. He’s asleep.”

At the sound of his own name Junho shoots out from behind the wall to catch them in the act— he may not remember getting married but he sure as hell wouldn’t tolerate being _cheated_ on—

Taecyeon turns around in surprise just as Junho rounds the corner. His hair is a mess, there are creases under his glasses-free eyes, and Junho smirks, peering around the kitchen for Taecyeon’s secret lover. 

“Junho?” He has to drop his gaze to around Taecyeon’s chest level. A small woman who looks _exactly_ like Taecyeon stands there under a head of dark curls, smiling at him hopefully and _oh, shit_. “Junho, dear,” Junho’s eyes widen as the woman who could only be Taecyeon’s _mom_ steps out from behind her son, and it’s with a steady thrum of horror that Junho sees her hands outstretched towards him before they come, warm, to cup his face.

He blinks once at her, not breathing, barely thinking. 

“Mom,” he hears Taecyeon chide softly, not moving where he remains, with his hands on his hips, near the kitchen island. Junho drops his gaze back to the woman’s face. She smiles openly at him, her arms still raised and hands still clutching him by the cheeks. Junho relaxes under her touch, under her unfaltering gaze, and he feels a nervous smile tempt the corners of his mouth.

“H-hi,” he manages, and Taecyeon’s mother’s smile widens and shimmers in her dark brown eyes. 

“My name is Yeon Hee. You call me mother,” she meets Junho’s shocked silence with a patient stare. “I know you have no idea who I am,” she says softly, her tone consoling, and Junho sighs. Her palms give the tiniest bit of pressure that Junho unconsciously leans into before she lets go, but her eyes remain fixed on his appraisingly. “You look well.” She exhales contentedly, and then she’s turning to approach Taecyeon once again, reaching up to pat one of his cheeks before opening the fridge.

Junho shuts his mouth, which he fears had been open the whole time, and takes the moment to notice the stacks of containers on the counter. 

“I brought all kinds of goodies,” Yeon Hee is saying, but Junho finds it hard to focus. All he can think about are the things he does know about Taecyeon’s family through the brief bits of small talk they shared when he received tutoring. Taecyeon’s father worked in finance. His mother didn’t work. They were rich. He remembers being slightly jealous, wondering what that was like— having money, not having to work your ass off just to get by or to reward yourself with the things you coveted. 

His eyes trail over Yeon Hee’s clothes, the silky bright yellow summer scarf at her throat and the pristine white of her blouse and her pants. He shaped an idea of these people, whom he only had vague notions of, and the warmth, the affection in her eyes and her touch were horribly wrong with that image he had conjured up. 

“Hey,” Junho’s eyes snap to his immediate left, where Taecyeon’s rumpled form has somehow wandered. Junho’s eyes immediately find the faded, two-week-old cut across Taecyeon’s pink lip. He registers the brush of a knuckle against his arm. “You want to get dressed?” Junho peers down at himself abruptly— he’s still in his towel— and he feels the heat of his face coloring. He chuckles awkwardly, not meeting Taecyeon’s gaze, and practically sprints out of the kitchen. 

He returns in a t-shirt and sweatpants not a minute later, curiosity more than anything guiding his steps. Taecyeon is crouching on the floor in front of the fridge, loading the unused vegetable compartments with what Junho sees are several batches of kimchi. His mouth waters. Yeon Hee, as if sensing his presence, turns to peer at him, and Junho can’t help but smile. 

She returns it, and makes her way back towards him. Her bag is over her shoulder and a pair of silver sunglasses now sit atop the ribbony locks of her hair. “Taecyeon is kicking me out—”

“— _Mom_ —”

She winces, and Junho laughs, for real. “I must be going.” Even the way she speaks is different, refined, but with the familiarity of a mother, or— Junho’s pulse begins to race— a mother-in-law. She lifts small hands to clutch at his shoulders, and his breath hitches at the slight sheen of wetness in her eyes. “We are so happy you’re alright.”

Junho nods gratefully, and he thinks fleetingly of Chansung, his arms around him, his own arms around Chansung. He’s lifting his arms now before he can even stop it, and a moment of confusion flashes across Yeon Hee’s face before it fizzles into delight and those tears spill over. She suddenly wraps her arms about his shoulders and neck, cradling the back of his head like he’s a child, and he has to lean down to her height to settle into the embrace. He sighs, and damnit, those tears must be contagious because his eyes fucking _burn_. 

*

Taecyeon doesn’t say anything about the hug, or the towel, and Junho is grateful. He’s grateful to Taecyeon for a lot of things lately, most of which he hasn’t been able to voice. He alternates between the kitchen and napping on the sofa throughout most of the day after Taecyeon leaves for work, heaving some of the programming books he found on the bookshelf to his seat and practicing what he understood on his laptop. He’s bored, and he wants to know what his job is like. 

The only times he’s gotten to leave the apartment aside from impromptu grocery runs with Taecyeon was when Taecyeon took him to the hospital for his follow-up appointments. Taecyeon always has to work, but when Junho walks out of each of those neurological specialists’ office, bogged down by medical jargon he never wanted to think about again or sore from someone poking at his head with some random tool— Taecyeon is there, sitting in the waiting room in his white physician’s coat amidst all those patients who stare at him curiously.

And when Taecyeon looks up from whatever magazine he used to pass the time, or from his phone and meets Junho’s gaze before rising to his feet and meeting him halfway, the familiarity unwinds the knots he feels in his bones, in his mind, and in his soul. Which is a nice feeling.

He’s finished programming a highly functional timer when Taecyeon comes through the door near midnight, rain dripping from his jacket where he hangs it in the entryway. This has become routine. Junho sleeps most of the day and wakes in the afternoon, quelling his hunger pangs with snacks until Taecyeon comes back and cooks something or brings takeout. Taecyeon props a large brown paper bag in one arm against a hip as he toes out of his shoes and steps into the living room. 

“Hi,” Junho says, intrigued at what the contents might be. His every word since their joint therapy session with Dr. Kim has felt guilt-ridden, because he never mustered up the courage to apologize. Or to— to say whatever it was he should have said. Dr. Kim wasn’t handing him any hints to that, either. But Taecyeon has mellowed somehow, and it hasn’t been lost on Junho. He sends Junho a weary, but genuine grin and jerks his head towards the kitchen. 

“Come in here with me for a bit,” he says, passing him by without waiting. Junho wrinkles his brows and pushes his computer onto the coffee table. He follows after Taecyeon, who is already unloading what looks like some fresh produce into the fridge. Junho hovers suspiciously on the other side of the island. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t done anything wrong. He knows how to use the dishwasher pretty much now, and he knows metal can’t go in the microwave. Everything he’s unsure about, he just doesn’t touch. 

Taecyeon glances up at him, pausing for a brief smile. Junho blinks. “Come here,” he beckons Junho with a hand, and Junho moves toward it reluctantly. 

“What?” he mumbles, leaning on the counter where Taecyeon starts to lay out some things: two knives, a clove of garlic, an onion, and some of the kimchi his mother brought. Taecyeon peers at him mischievously, and doesn’t relinquish their eye contact as he lifts his hands to unhook the buttons on one cuff, then the other, and roll his sleeves higher up the length of his forearm. 

“I’m going to teach you how to cook,” he announces, moving to the sink to run his hands under the water. Junho watches him add soap and lather them up. He scoffs.

“Are you finally leaving me?” He half-jokes, peering at Taecyeon’s back. Taecyeon’s shoulders quake with a sudden, short laugh, and Junho feels his smirk curl into a frown. “I’d leave me.” He adds darkly, turning to poke at the big white onion in front of him. It rolls a few inches before coming to a shaky stop. This was it. Taecyeon was going to show him how to fend for himself, and when he thought he was ready, he was going to pack his bags and leave him here to rot. Or he could make Junho leave. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Taecyeon sighs, and Junho feels him step up next to him. He looks over one shoulder to find Taecyeon examining him with a thoughtful expression, rolling a small towel between his hands. The water is still running. “Go wash your hands.” Junho does as he’s told and dries them off with Taecyeon’s towel, scowling as he joins Taecyeon back at his little set up. 

“What are we making?” He asks, reaching out to tug one of the stools out from beneath the island. The legs scrape across the floor and Junho starts to lift himself onto it when one of Taecyeon’s hands lights on his back, the other on the stool. Junho slides off it with a glare, but he doesn’t say anything as Taecyeon ushers it back under with a sneaky curve to his mouth, and Junho sulks but remains standing. 

“Kimchi fried rice,” Taecyeon pulls a skillet from one of the cabinets and pops it on the stove, flicking on the blue flames below. “First you need oil.” He holds up a bottle of some brand of oil Junho doesn’t recognize, and Junho goes over to the stove to watch him pour a generous amount inside. “While the oil gets hot, cut your onions and garlic,” he instructs with a jerk of his chin in that direction, and Junho gives in to his urge to laugh. 

It feels like biochemistry all over again. He takes up the knife and grips the onion in one hand. Taecyeon hovers just at the outside of Junho’s shoulder with his hands on his hips, surveying. Junho saws into the onion halfway before the knife gets stuck, and he turns to look at Taecyeon, biting at the laugh threatening its way onto his face. Taecyeon snorts and swipes the knife from his hand. 

Junho moves aside enthusiastically, sniffing at his hands and coughing. His eyes start to water at the strong, oniony odor. He peeks at the oil as Taecyeon chops up the onion and the garlic and pushes it all into a neat pile before bringing it over on a cutting board. Junho rolls his eyes and takes it, and he very unceremoniously drops it all into the oil.

“Shit!” He curses, as little oil bombs fly in all directions. He jumps back and uses the cutting board as a shield. Taecyeon reaches out to turn down the heat, his tongue poking through his teeth in a wince as the oil crackles violently on contact and the diced veggies hiss and pop against his white shirt. 

“Fuck— bring the kimchi over, would you, baby?”

Junho’s heart stops. The bamboo cutting board nearly slips from his hands, but he clenches them tight, and just stares at the back of Taecyeon’s head. Taecyeon shakes the skillet one handed, his brow furrowed in concentration on the fragrant mixture on the stove. Junho blinks and turns, a little wide-eyed for the tupperware of kimchi behind them. 

“Add it in,” Taecyeon reaches up to wipe at his nose with a sleeve. Junho side-eyes him as he opens the lid and dumps most of the kimchi into the pan, where it sizzles and all the aromas meld together and remind him of home. Taecyeon offers him an indulgent smile as he tugs the container from his hands. Junho just peers up at him, his breaths slipping in and out quietly through his open mouth because Taecyeon is completely oblivious to what he just said. 

He feels the spatula as Taecyeon presses it insistently into his palm. Junho blinks in confusion at it, then at the skillet. Taecyeon gestures towards it with his hand, “All yours.” 

It’s not _that_ strange, he reasons. Taecyeon’s probably really tired. They are married. They must have had all kinds of gross nicknames for each other. Junho’s mind travels back to that first day, when he woke up in the hospital. Taecyeon had even kissed him on the face, then. 

He pushes his thoughts aside and sniffs good-naturedly before shoving the kimchi around, despite the tension roiling around in his stomach. Taecyeon wanders away momentarily and comes back with a bowl of rice from the fridge. He leans one hand against the counter and slips the other in his pocket, peering sideways at Junho’s cooking. “Looks good,” he comments, and a small bit of pride swells in Junho’s chest. 

He lifts his eyes to Taecyeon’s face briefly, looks away, then he takes another look, pursing his lips. Taecyeon doesn’t notice. 

“Your mom is nice,” Junho forces the words out, and Taecyeon’s gaze slides to his. A smile that is both fond and irritated appears on his lips before Junho averts his own eyes to the task at hand, because this whole eye contact thing with Taecyeon is new and a little unsettling. He sees everything in there, and each emotion is a pang in his chest.

“She loves you,” Taecyeon mutters. Junho notices his arm lift in his periphery, probably to adjust his crooked glasses. “You call, you visit, you buy her cool gifts. You’re the son she never had.” Junho has to turn to chuckle at him at that. Taecyeon peers at him, pleased. “Rice,” he utters, and they finish up their late meal in no time. They don’t talk while they eat, standing at the island, both leaning over their plates side by side. 

Junho’s mind is a veritable tempest. Here is Taecyeon’s mother—supportive. Loving. He remembers hugging her, the way her arms wrapped securely around him, a sweet, _stabbing_ , foreign gentleness that cruelly overwhelmed him. His food tastes bitter on his tongue. His own mother: the exact opposite. He drops his spoon suddenly, and Taecyeon turns to him, chewing through a surprised pout. His mouth is opening, most likely to ask Junho whether he likes it, but Junho cuts him off before he loses his nerve. 

“I’m sorry my mom treated you like shit.”

Taecyeon’s eyes soften, and he lowers his spoon to the tabletop as well. He clears his throat and meets Junho’s eyes seriously when he says, “It’s not like you never warned me.” 

Junho smiles sadly and drops his head to continue eating. Good. He did it. His shoulders feel lighter, his head a little less busy. Dr. Kim would be proud of him, he thinks. Taecyeon shuffles next to him. “Once a week.”

Junho glances up at the cryptic words, blinking in mild confusion. Taecyeon’s gaze travels over their nearly empty plates and his face turns just so towards the stove. 

“You cook once a week,” Taecyeon suggests with an impish tilt to his lips, and Junho’s spoon freezes on its way to his mouth. “I’ll help you,” Taecyeon adds. “Unless you don’t think you can do it.”

Junho narrows his eyes and swallows his last bite, chewing furiously as he lifts his chin and stands up a little straighter. Taecyeon’s eyes light up with a competitive gleam behind his glasses. “No. I’ll do it.” Taecyeon beams, satisfied, and scrapes the rest of his rice into his mouth. Junho covers his mouth to keep from laughing out loud as he takes a few slow steps backwards away from the island. Taecyeon peers up at him curiously. “But you can do the dishes.”

He takes off at a near run down the hallway, cackling as he ignores Taecyeon’s shout that fervently calls him back.


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taecyeon balances work and marriage.

“Alright, now take a left,” Taecyeon says, just before Junho worries his bottom lip and steers the car at the next right. Taecyeon furrows his brows and turns to marvel at Junho’s profile. He pushes a small smile onto his mouth, hoping the bit of concern gnawing at him doesn’t leak onto his face. Junho stares straight ahead as they come to a stoplight. He notices the attention and meets his eye. 

“What?”

Taecyeon hesitates, inclining his head and peering at the clock. He was glad he had insisted on leaving early. “I said left,” he states, manipulating his tone so there’s no trace of worry. He might have been telling Junho it was raining. Junho just blinks and casts a sweeping look at their grey, morning-lit surroundings on the stretch of road outside the car.

“I know,” he vocalizes, repeatedly stretching and curling his fingers around the steering wheel. He peers back at Taecyeon, oblivious to his error, and it makes Taecyeon wonder whether he’s overreacting. He resists the urge to laugh— or cry. 

“You turned right,” he holds Junho’s gaze, and Junho pulls a face, snorting in disbelief before he looks through the windows again and a shadow of real unease creases his forehead and draws the corners of his mouth down. He faces Taecyeon again, and Taecyeon only allows his focus to stray from Junho for the fraction of a second he needs to see that the light above them is, indeed, still red before looking him in the eye once again. 

“Did I really?” Junho asks, sort of pouting. 

A beat passes, and Taecyeon licks his lips. “Yes.” Junho’s gaze drops from Taecyeon’s face to watch as Taecyeon lifts his hips to dig his phone from his back pocket. Taecyeon types the hospital address into his GPS app and secures the phone inside the dock on the dashboard. Junho narrows his eyes at the screen, where a thick purple streak highlights the path to follow. 

“I must have thought you said right,” Junho mumbles grudgingly, his eyes flicking up to meet Taecyeon’s. Taecyeon nods, considering Junho’s tight jaw and crumpled brow, basking in this moment of vulnerability, of Junho looking at him and him looking at Junho. His eyes find the stiff collar of Junho’s deep blue denim shirt, the tense set of his shoulders beneath it and a nervous, khaki’d knee that bounces as they wait at the light.

It’s the little things that Taecyeon misses: Junho sitting next to him in the driver’s seat, calm, in control. Sure. Taecyeon knows his husband, and he knows that Junho loathes dependency, and that he hates admitting he’s wrong even more. So all of this must suck. He resolves not to say anything else. The light overhead flashes a bright green that reflects off of the windshield, and Junho turns away. The GPS’s voice cuts the silence between them.

“In one mile, turn left on Ash Street.”

Taecyeon watches Junho’s eyes fall to the screen as he steps on the gas, and he sees the wheels turning in Junho’s mind, marking the path displayed on the map, etching it into a memory that may let it go at a moment’s notice. His brow is marred by confusion and fear, emotions that Taecyeon decides have no place on his husband’s face. He clears his throat and drops his hand on the armrest of Junho’s seat to lean forward and peer uselessly out of the back window. His seat belt tugs at his waist and his chest until he turns back, and he leaves his hand right where it is, hoping it comforts Junho as much as it does himself. He can’t touch him, but he can get this close, and it’s all he needs.

“In 100 meters, turn left on Ash Street.” The GPS orders, and Junho lets out a quiet, but weary sigh that wrenches at Taecyeon’s heartstrings. He knew this would be hard. That was why he handed Junho the keys this morning. The brain is an enigma. Junho could wake up from a brutal assault after two weeks and still yell at Taecyeon from the top of his lungs, but that didn’t mean he could drive a car. Some things stayed, and some things went. 

Taecyeon’s fingers crawl further around the smooth leather beneath them and Junho’s face pinches just so in concentration. “Just up ahead,” Taecyeon says softly, as the green sign marked _Ash_ creeps into view. Junho nods and adjusts his grip on the wheel, the outside of his elbow brushing vaguely at the backs of Taecyeon’s fingers. Taecyeon’s breathing becomes stilted, but he doesn’t move his hand.

He’s pathetic. It could have been an accident, Junho just moving around in his seat or— or Junho _knows_ what Taecyeon intends to do and— Taecyeon shuts his mind off as Junho hits a button with one hand and the turn signal flashes, on, off, on, off. The car slows down until it rolls to a complete stop, and one car passes. Two. Three, and finally the distant on-coming traffic stalls and Junho turns, _left_ onto Ash Street. 

*

“You really can’t stay?” Junho asks him over his shoulder, just after Sunmi calls his name. She stands by the door leading to the consultation offices, patiently peering at her clipboard instead of watching them. Taecyeon nods, regretfully, and Junho sends him a disappointed half-smile before he moves to follow Sunmi. 

“I’ll be back,” he promises, and Junho just bobs his head in understanding before turning away and disappearing behind the closing door. He hates to leave Junho here, but he has to see a few patients, and he’s already moved around his schedule so much that his supervisors are reluctant to let anymore slide. He’s still a resident. 

He leaves neurology and makes his way across the campus to cardiology, where a small smattering of patients await their morning appointments. The first one Taecyeon sees is an elderly man whose grand daughter escorts him back, guiding a shaky walker that rattles across the floor with every step. He had a coronary triple bypass last November and the pain in his chest has recently returned. 

Taecyeon can only send them both a reassuring smile and administer something to keep him comfortable in the time he has left, which isn’t much. He stares into the folds of the man’s aged face, the dim light in his eyes, and it occurs to him just how important it is to make the most of the years, the hours, the seconds that he has left. Because months ago, when Junho lay on a hospital bed swollen and bandaged beyond recognition, it seemed like all that time was up.

He had promised Junho he would be back to pick him up from Dr. Choi’s office and take him back home, but his 10:00 runs twenty minutes late. Junho’s appointment was supposed to end around 11. He steps out into the waiting room, glancing at his watch, which reads almost half past. He approaches the front desk and lets the secretary know he’s leaving. She nods, accustomed to this by now, and a rush of gratitude flows through him as he sets off for the hallway. 

“Taecyeon!”

He’s just at the top of the stairs leading back to the main campus when he hears Yubin’s voice behind him. He turns to see her smiling face, framed by dark bobbed locks that shuffle ever so slightly with every clack of her heels against the tiled floor. 

“Hey,” he returns her grin, slipping his hands into his pockets. He doesn't want to stop and talk, but for the past week they've kept missing each other, and if it continues, he knows he'll never hear the end of it. She slows until she’s right in front of him, her eyes drawing from his face down his body and up again, sizing him up like she always does. She pushes some of her hair behind her ear and crosses her arms over her chest. 

“Well, you‘re looking like your old self,” she observes, her eyes sparkling and warm. Taecyeon cocks his head in curiosity. He didn’t think he looked all that different. But he felt it. He was feeling it, more and more everyday. After that fight and the silent days that ensued, he knew things had to change. He had to change. He had to stop feeling sorry for himself, for one, and regain his optimism. 

“Oh yeah?” he plays off her compliment, his hands cleave at the insides of his pockets, one finding nothing, the other interrupted by the hard edge of his phone.

“How is everything?” Yubin asks, her smile slipping into sincere concern as she takes another step closer. Her perfume wafts into Taecyeon’s nose, sharp and floral, perfect for her. 

“It’s good,” he says, and he realizes with a faint grin that he’s not lying this time. He feels the corners of his eyes crinkle with the steady, excited thrum in his chest. “It’s really good.”

Yubin furrows her brows, her nose wrinkles and her lips draw over her teeth, but the kind beam still shimmers in her gaze, and she reaches out to touch him. He feels her hand light on his back, and her eyes soften, worry and compassion filling the dark depths of her irises. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” her hand rubs slow, gentle circles across the width of his back, between his shoulder blades, and he thinks of his mother, his sister, when the corner of her mouth tilts a bit more and her lashes drop just so, her eyes hooded as he nods. 

“Dr. Ok!” 

Both of their heads turn towards the stairs to see Sunmi, one of the neurology nurses at the bottom of the long staircase. “Hey, Sunmi,” Taecyeon throws his voice. Yubin chuckles next to him, her hand dropping to her side. Sunmi smiles at them both with a tiny wave.

“I’m dropping him off with you!” She calls good-naturedly, and there ‘him’ is, those smiling eyes and that impish grin, Taecyeon’s personal pick-me-up. Junho jogs up the stairs two at a time, hands in his pockets. Sunmi departs through the double doors at the base of the stairs. 

“That was a long walk to take,” Taecyeon comments by way of greeting as Junho reaches them in slow, leisurely steps that begin in his shoulders and rake through his hips down to his feet. 

“I needed the exercise,” Junho breathes, his smile a permanent fixture on his mouth. “Hi,” he says, his gaze leaving Taecyeon’s face and shifting just to Taecyeon’s right. And Taecyeon realizes he’s been incredibly rude.

“Junho—” he turns to his side to gesture at Yubin, a cheerful smile blooming on her face, “this is Dr. Kim Yubin, a colleague of mine in the cardiology department.” They shake hands, and Taecyeon awkwardly adds, “Yubin, you know Junho…”

Yubin smiles through her whole face, “I do.” She glances between the two of them and then reaches up to pat Taecyeon on the bicep. “I was actually one of the interns during your clinical rotations,” she says to Junho, and Taecyeon appreciates her then, because her first words to him have nothing to do with his condition. He does feel a twinge of guilt at that, because that internship was around the time that he and Junho started… _started_. He never said anything to her or anyone else, because Junho was still a student at the time. He vows to buy her coffee tomorrow.

Junho’s mouth opens in a mildly surprised ‘O’ shape, and his eyes flick to Taecyeon’s, and the awe there takes on a sordid, mocking aspect that makes Taecyeon want to _spank_ him—

“It’s funny,” Yubin goes on, and Taecyeon pulls his eyes from Junho’s smirk to peer down at her just as she looks up with a fond, reminiscing smile. “Taecyeon and I were in the same graduating class, the same internship, and now we’re in the same residency program at the same hospital.” Her smile widens, pink glossy lips and even white teeth, crescent-shaped eyes that fan just so at the corners. Taecyeon chuckles at the coincidence— he never even realized. 

“And now we’re married,” Junho adds, his dry voice in stark contrast to the smile on his face. A sudden barking sound leaves Taecyeon’s chest, and he doesn’t know whether it’s a laugh or something else. He doesn’t have to decide.

“Yes,” Yubin says, folding her hands in front of her skirt. She heaves a sigh, and suddenly looks apologetic. “Well, I should get going.” She cocks her head and regards Junho with a polite smile. “I’m glad you’re doing well.” Her eyes come back to Taecyeon. “I’ll catch you later.”

Taecyeon nods, and she’s off. Junho is smiling absently when Taecyeon looks back his way. He jerks his head in the direction of the doors downstairs, and Junho leads them down.

It’s warmer outside now that it’s mid-morning, and Taecyeon squints when the sun hits his eyes just as they step into the courtyard. He falls into step with Junho, feels the heat sneak beneath the layers of his jacket and his shirt beneath.

“How was your appointment?”

Junho shrugs, watching a squirrel skitter across the sidewalk and up the length of a thick tree trunk before it disappears in the canopy casting uneven shadows upon them. “Same old. I told him about the driving.”

“And?”

Taecyeon steps a bit behind Junho to let a nurse pushing a wheelchair go by. The nurse sends him a nod in greeting, and Taecyeon returns it, even though he doesn’t recognize him. Junho’s gaze finds Taecyeon over his shoulder, and Taecyeon pads back into the unhurried stride Junho has taken on. 

“He said I’m lucky I married a doctor,” Junho’s lips only purse but his smile shows in his eyes, which flicker like flames on a candle wick, something playful dancing in them. Taecyeon tries to school his expression into something neutral, something that doesn’t betray the elation that sends a flood of goosebumps over his skin, because this is the second time in a matter of _minutes_ that Junho has acknowledged their marriage with no malice. Hope simmers inside him. 

“Are you hungry?” Taecyeon asks, eager to change the subject before he says something— or Junho says something— to dismantle all of that hope, peering at the side of Junho’s face. Junho inhales deeply through his nose and takes in the greenery, the benches, and the flowers around them. 

“Not really,” he answers, dropping his eyes to the ground thoughtfully. The corner of his mouth lifts in a far away smile. “It’s strange.”

Taecyeon watches him closely, giving him only silence as an indication to continue. Junho raises his eyes and gifts Taecyeon with a stare as they walk side by side. The light beaming down from overhead plays gold in the black hair combed away from narrow eyes that are even smaller under the rays of sun. Taecyeon doesn’t look away. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. 

“I thought I’d be in your shoes. Wearing that coat.” A wry smile curls Junho’s full lips, and Taecyeon chuckles at the thought of _Dr. Lee_. He could never quite imagine it, even back when he tutored him in school.

“Even though you didn’t want it,” Taecyeon doesn’t phrase it as a question. Junho smiles his way again and nods his head, a gentle breeze disarranging the carefully laid sweep of hair at Junho’s forehead. Taecyeon’s fingers itch to brush them back in place. 

“I’m glad I did everything I wanted to do.” Junho states, lifting his chin and keeping his gaze forward. Taecyeon’s heart trips, a thick lump manifests itself in his throat. What does that mean? Junho doesn’t give him a chance to ask, or to think— his sneakers push ahead on the sidewalk and he swings around in front of Taecyeon, walking backwards, his lips sloped in a smirk that is doubly smug and cute. Taecyeon catches that smile like a contagion, amused, entranced, in love. 

“So, do you like women?” Junho chirps suddenly. Taecyeon barely manages to keep from stumbling. Junho’s smirk spreads into a laugh that catches on the wind, which, behind him now, whips more of his hair onto the fluffy fringe now covering his brows. 

“What?”

“Women,” Junho repeats. His eyes glint like he’s been tickled, and Taecyeon knows just how that looks. “Are you attracted to them?” Junho’s face tips, his denim blue collar casts a black shadow across the length of a neck one or two shades healthier that pale. Taecyeon forces himself to focus.

“Uh, yes,” he replies tightly, almost stammering at the suddenness of the question. He briefly wonders where this is coming from. A satisfied smirk blossoms on Junho’s lips. “Generally, yes.” Taecyeon collects himself, nodding. He feels his eyes crease at the corners as he puts on an exaggerated wince, and in a rush of competitive pride he adds, “but I’m married. I only have eyes for my husband.”

It’s cheesy and direct and it has just the effect he wants. Junho’s smirk falters just the slightest, until it buckles and he throws his head back to laugh, free and open and the tiniest bit shy, and the sun on the blush that eases onto his cheeks is breathtaking. 

Junho tips his chin over one shoulder, his laughter extinguished to barely audible breaths as he checks the path behind him. It’s clear. They are more or less alone out here. That naughty edge shines in his irises again when he peers back at Taecyeon. 

“Have you ever been with one?” His voice retains the lightness of his laughter, too. Taecyeon purses his lips, around his smile, entertained. He supposes _been with_ means sex. He hesitates, and he’s not sure why. This is Junho, Junho knows everything about him— or at least now he wants to know everything, it seems— He clears his throat, drops his gaze for a second and scratches at his jaw before re-affirming their eye contact.

“No,” he admits. The vertical diameter of Junho’s eyes grows by a few millimeters, surprised. Taecyeon watches him digest that information, a slow pulling apart at the seam of his lips and a few thoughtful bats of barely-there lashes. He awaits the next question: _What about men?_ But Junho just spins on one heel and is back by his side, letting out a loud sigh. 

“Can you play hooky today?” It’s not a question. It comes out monotone, demanding like much of what Junho has to say to him. Taecyeon exhales. His stomach tingles, bouncing with the tickle of butterflies, and he feels like a second grader with a crush all over again. Or like an aspiring doctor tutoring an irresistible medical student. 

“You want to spend the day with me?” He teases. 

Junho snorts, but doesn’t meet his eyes when he drawls, “ _No_.” Taecyeon spies the car parked in an even line next to some others, directly in front of the steel and glass facade of the neurology building. “I wanted to order pizzas.”

Taecyeon doesn’t comment on the fact that Junho’s answer in no way _answers_ his question. He chooses not to tease him even further, because Junho wants to hang out with him, and he doesn’t want this to ever stop. Not again. He suddenly gets an idea. “Why don’t we make our own?”

Junho’s eyes light up, ever ready for a challenge. Taecyeon sees him turn to face him out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, alright,” he agrees, but Taecyeon has to interject before he gets too excited. 

“Not today. I have appointments until tonight. Let’s do it Friday,” he suggests carefully. Junho wrinkles his nose, but nods anyway. Taecyeon bares his teeth in a smile, elated. He fishes the car keys from his pocket and hits the unlock button. The black sedan whistles back at them and the lights flash. “You up for driving again?”

Junho’s top lip curls in a reluctant grimace. He eyes the keys, uncertain. 

“You’ll be fine,” Taecyeon slows and mirrors Junho when Junho pauses directly in front of the headlights of the Audi. “And if you’re not,” he inclines his head, searching for the eyes staring so intently at the keys as if they might lunge out and take a bite. Taecyeon continues, “If you’re _not_ , I’m right next to you.”

Junho just stares at the keys, and then his eyes lift in increments until they lock with Taecyeon’s. Taecyeon’s lips pull into a supportive half-grin, and he sees everything in Junho’s stare. Frustration, anger, pain. Shame. Taecyeon wants to destroy it all. He extends the hand holding the keys, and while the shadows of those emotions don’t leave Junho’s eyes, they do melt, just at the edges, diminished by the fire of belief. 

Junho clenches his jaw, his eyes hardened with determination as his hand reaches out to take the keys, and when fingertips brush the heart of his palm, just an imperceptible kiss of skin on skin, Taecyeon feels a _spark_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been wicked busy lately, but rest assured: I'm always writing! It's just a matter of whether or not I'm able to post. Sigh. But anyway aside from the boring excuses...
> 
> GUYS -- Your comments mean everything to me. Those of you who are also writers know the rush of feels you get when you see Kudos or when someone gives you positive feedback! (read: Even negative feedback makes my heart swell these days!) It's the best feeling in the world to put yourself out there and see that 'yourself' is liked/loved/enjoyed!! I don't know if this is making any sense, but thank you everyone!! Please stay interested and leave as many comments as you wish! Sorry for the long note ^^


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junho steps out of his comfort zone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sneaks in* I'll just leave these TWO chapters here!

“Next episode?” Chansung turns to peer at Junho from his seat next to him on the sofa, a tempting smirk curving his mouth, remote already angled towards the TV as the credits roll. Junho barely has to think before he answers. 

“Of course,” he says, as if it's ridiculous Chansung even thought he had to ask.

Chansung chuckles, and whatever streaming service it is that Chansung found switches abruptly to the show’s opening sequence. Junho heaves a big sigh and unfolds his legs to climb off the couch, scooping Johnny up in his arms. “Let’s go get some more popcorn,” he mumbles, snatching up the empty bowl and heading for the kitchen. 

He sets the microwave for two and half minutes and plays with Johnny on the kitchen floor as the mechanical whir dissolves into scattered pops as the kernels balloon inside. Johnny paws at the fluffy little toy Chansung brought over until, finally, Junho lets go when the timer goes off. Johnny scampers away with his victory. 

“Chansung, do you want another soda?” He shouts, tearing open the steaming popcorn bag and pouring its contents into the bowl. He grabs a handful and drops it into his mouth as he turns for the fridge. 

“Do you have any beer?”

Junho gasps and nearly drops the bowl. Chansung is standing in the kitchen doorway, _not_ the living room. Junho hadn’t even heard him come in. His ears perk up— the TV in the other room is silent. He must have paused it. Chansung brushes his black hair out of his face with chubby fingers, coming closer to eat some popcorn. His eyes find Junho’s with a tiny unassuming smile. 

“Oh,” Junho recovers, “beer. Yeah.” He pulls the fridge open and takes out a bottle. “I can’t drink yet, so I can’t tell you how good it is,” he slides the bottle across the island to Chansung with a shrug. Chansung catches it and twists the cap off. “Taecyeon keeps buying it, so it can’t be too bad.”

He grabs a soda for himself and pops it open. Chansung takes a long sip and lowers the bottle from his lips with a satisfied, _ah_ , peering at the label. A wrinkle appears between his brows as Junho rounds the counter and leads them back into the living room. “It’s good,” Chansung comments behind him, and they drop down onto the sofa. Chansung’s hand goes for the remote, but his finger hesitates over the play button. 

Junho furrows his brows, adjusting one of the pillows beneath him so he can settle in the corner of the couch and draw his feet up to sit cross-legged with the bowl in his lap. 

“So…” Chansung starts, eying the remote control in his hands and taking a brief swig of his beer. He sits forward with his elbows on his thighs and turns to look back at him. Junho’s eyebrows lift, a little intrigued when he pulls his gaze from the frozen faces on the TV that haven’t started moving yet, and their eyes meet. 

Chansung examines him for a brief second before he voices whatever has him putting the show on hold. “...is it weird? Living with someone you don’t know?”

Junho’s fingers halt in their path to cramming more popcorn into his mouth. He blinks quickly, a little taken aback, and then he eats, chewing slowly. Chansung shifts so his body is more or less facing Junho, an apologetic hand waves dismissively in the space between them.

“I’m sorry if— it’s not my place to ask, I was just— just wondering…” Chansung’s features twist in mild alarm, and Junho calms a bit as the other man visibly gropes about to find the right words until he eventually trails off to silence, wincing. Junho takes a deep breath, his eyes dropping to peer at the leather sofa, unseeing. 

“I know Taecyeon,” he says, before he can stop himself, and he seals his lips when the words slip past them. Chansung’s eyes narrow thoughtfully, his jaw moves in a barely noticeable nod. Junho swallows, staring into the bowl at the mountain of buttery popcorn. He does know Taecyeon— Taecyeon taught him. Sure, they talked almost exclusively about biochemistry in those days, but it wasn’t like Junho woke up married to a _stranger_. 

He may wear different glasses and have shorter hair and wear _clean_ , nicer clothes and have _M.D_ after his name now— but he’s the same guy who showed up in the library that snowy night in January when Junho was in danger of failing out of school, who helped him commit those terms to memory and come to grasp those processes that at first seemed far from reach. 

Taecyeon is safe. 

Taecyeon flirts, horribly and awkwardly, quickly muttered compliments Junho sort of expects now, that have grown in frequency with the steadily rising heat of summer’s approach. As the spring storms dwindled to scattered, grey drizzles and blaring sun, Taecyeon’s glances have become open, probing stares that no longer falter when returned but instead close with a sly smile that leaves Junho’s heart thudding at a brisk, galloping pace.

It is Taecyeon. The thought is simple. It rings, clear as a bell, through Junho’s mind— three little words that make so much sense on their own and need no embellishment. He cups his hands around the cool red plastic in his lap, and then he lifts his eyes back to the ones focusing so intently on his face. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and the feeling that swells in his chest is bright and erratic, like fireflies in the darkness, abundant and unnamed. It kind of scares him that he doesn't know how or when they got to be a part of him. 

Chansung’s eyes soften through Junho’s silence, and the dimples in his cheeks punctuate a tense smile in return. “But not as a husband,” he presses on for some reason. Junho blinks, and he’s just a little bit frustrated, his grin unstable as he stretches an arm out to put the popcorn on the coffee table. Chansung doesn’t look away from his face. 

Junho frowns and avoids his eyes, peering down where Wolie conveniently appears on the floor. She paws at Chansung’s calf, but he doesn’t move to touch her. His eyes bore into the side of Junho’s face, leaving Wolie undisturbed on the floor, the way she likes. Junho inhales and averts his gaze to sneak a glimpse of the clock on the entertainment set. 

It’s a little after nine— Taecyeon had only had a few conditions for Chansung bringing the cats over: they had to be gone by ten, and no Fridays or weekends. Chansung shifts next to him, reclining his side against the sofa, resting his head in one palm and regarding Junho with what looks like concern. Curiosity. Confusion. 

Junho feels like he’s back in his first day of therapy. He laughs uncomfortably and reaches up to scratch at the back of his head. 

“We don’t…” he starts to say, but then he realizes Chansung’s not asking about _that_ , he just means— “what do you mean?” Junho prompts, staring at the tiny hole in the knee of Chansung’s jeans because now _he’s_ confused. 

“I’m just saying,” Chansung almost whispers, his voice so soft Junho doesn’t know whether he should be upset or not at the forwardness of his questions. But they _are_ friends, and that must be something Chansung can’t just turn off, right? He turns to reluctantly meet Chansung’s gaze as he resumes speaking. 

“Relationships make people different. You can be one way as someone’s friend,” Chansung’s eyes fall to where he’s started fidgeting with the corner of the black pillow between them, and then they flick upwards again, unwavering, “and you can be completely different as a lover.”

Junho feels his eyes grow wide in his face and his breathing slow for the full second of silence that passes, and then he lets out a whoosh of air in something like a laugh, but a bit too stiff. Chansung’s smile is small, and his skin crinkles a little at the corners of eyes that don’t leave Junho’s face.

“I…” Junho stops, biting his bottom lip. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it, especially in the last few weeks where Taecyeon has been around more, making an effort to _be_ around him. He doesn’t know when exactly Taecyeon changed, or if he even did change to begin with. 

But he knows it feels _good_ when he looks up from the laundry he’s managed to leave in the wash overnight to see Taecyeon watching him from the door, wearing a smile that’s so easy to read and so hard to ignore. 

Junho feels virile, desired, when Taecyeon’s hand lights on his back to warn him before reaching into an overhead cabinet Junho happens to be blocking, when he feels gentle fingers on the inside of his elbow that rouse him when he’s fallen asleep on the sofa. As the days progress he finds himself staring at Taecyeon, marvelling, _wondering_ at things that had never— should have never— crossed his mind. 

“I’m sorry.”

Chansung’s voice yanks Junho from wherever he’s gone. He looks sharply at him to see Chansung scooting to the edge of the sofa and grabbing his phone. “That was rude. Sometimes I get like that, I just…” He gives a self-deprecating shake of his head and lifts his hand to make a chattery gesture with it, and Junho laughs uneasily, nodding. “I should get going.”

Junho is relieved to not have to speak anymore. He changes the subject to Chansung’s job as they find Johnny and Wolie and pack them up with their toys, and only a small smattering of words pass between them. Chansung turns a sorrowful gaze on him as Junho waits with him at the elevator. 

“Junho,” he starts, but Junho punches him on the shoulder to cut him off.

“It’s okay,” Junho hopes his smile is reassuring, because he doesn’t know if it is okay, himself. This hasn’t happened before, in the weeks since Chansung started visiting. Chansung blinks at him, his lips folding into a solemn line, a shimmer of disappointment still at the edges of his eyes. The elevator dings, and he turns away to readjust his grip on their feline companions in his arms. “Goodnight,” Junho waves as Chansung steps inside. 

Chansung’s voice is soft, his posture sags and the doors are just closing when he replies, “Bye.”

When Junho steps back into the apartment, that curiosity he’s been feeling thrums anew. He tugs his laptop from the coffee table and carries it to his bedroom, where he shuts the door and falls beneath the covers after changing to a tank top and boxers. His fingers hover over the keyboard, and he swallows, glaring at the screen. It couldn’t hurt to look. 

He forces his hands to move, and he opens the folder marked _Photos_ before he can talk himself out of it and chuck his computer across the room. He curls his toes beneath the blankets and his stomach tightens in trepidation as a queue of albums pop up on the screen, organized chronologically. He barely spares them a glance before he picks one at random— he doesn't want to know how far they date back or when the last one was taken, or any detail that he couldn't handle right now— December last year.

Junho’s never been stabbed in the chest but when the first photo opens, blown to full size in a separate window, he’s positive the pain that shoots through him is what it feels like. 

_Ba-bum. Ba-bum._ He’s sure his heart is failing. He stares, open-mouthed, wide-eyed, at the screen— a bunch of people sit in a restaurant at a twelve-person party table with high, bar stool-type chairs, some faces he can see and others have their backs to the camera. He sees Taecyeon immediately, the center of attention, a pink and purple conical party hat on his head— and Junho sitting on his lap. 

“ _Shit_ ,” Junho mutters to himself. 

Taecyeon’s hand clutches, casually, at Junho’s hip while Junho poises a knife over a cake with melted candles and _Happy Birthday Taecyeon!_ scrawled across it in flowy frosting. There’s booze everywhere and what looks like leftover remains of nachos and fajitas. Junho’s mouth is frozen in a huge smile, two conical hats on his head stick out like horns, while Taecyeon’s head is tipped back, sipping at a beer. 

Junho stares at the photo and he feels his jaw quiver and his eyes sting at the same time because this is just what he dreaded— he clicks and clicks and each image is a constant state of _contact_ and _touching_ and _happy_ that makes Junho’s chest ache, his brain burn with the curiosity of _how does it feel?_

He tears his eyes away and shoves his hands over his face, groaning against his palms. This was why he had avoided pictures, aside from the ones he just couldn’t, like the one on the bedside table or the lock screen on Taecyeon’s phone which Junho glimpsed one day at the grocery store and promptly forced himself to forget afterwards. He cards trembling fingers through his hair and slides back against the stack of pillows behind him, breathing in and out shakily. 

His head hurts. Images flicker behind his eyes when he closes them, and he doesn’t know if they are memories or the photos he saw just now assaulting him once again, triggering a migraine. He shakes his head violently and wrenches his eyes open. 

He takes one more deep breath, and roots himself back in the present. He can do this. He clicks on another folder, _Videos_ , and a bunch of thumbnails appear in the window. Junho leans in a little to squint at them because he thinks he sees people, and then—

And then he sees his own face.


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junho may have stepped too far out of his comfort zone.

The video is dated almost six months to this day. 

Junho opens it and adjusts the volume, and there he is. Something unpleasant bursts up in Junho’s belly at seeing himself, like a bat flapping inside him for escape, at not remembering recording this— he looks different. His face is thinner, his hair is shorter, his eyes… At the first word, Junho’s stomach drops.

_“Taecyeonnie,” he drawls, his face close to the camera, his lids flutter, and he fusses with his hair for almost an entire minute, a fluffy, just washed and blow-dried mass atop his head. “You won’t know, but I’m recording us.”_

“Oh my god,” Junho mumbles aloud, “no, no, no...” 

_Junho takes several steps back so most of his body is visible, from the knees up. A lewd smirk plays across his lips. “I’m wearing your shirt.”_

Junho whimpers and clasps a terrified hand over his mouth as on-screen-Junho reaches down slowly to lift the hem of the grey t-shirt with the skull and crossbones he’s almost always wearing these days. He tugs the shirt to the side, and the fabric finds each dip and hollow of definition in his chest and abdomen. Junho wants to scream.

_“These are new,” he mentions off-handedly, just as the shirt comes up enough to reveal tight black briefs and the deep vee of a defined pelvic bone. A slow, seductive smirk tugs his lips upwards, and his eyes gleam, cat-like into the lens._

Junho bites at his nails, his heart hammering in his chest because he’s become a _pornographer_. He’s horrified. And just a little impressed. 

_There’s a sudden sound in the distance, and Junho’s face brightens and he sends a flirty smile to the camera. “You’re home,” he turns and makes for the bed, and he’s completely visible, then, head to toe, standing on the bed in Taecyeon’s shirt and only underwear, when he starts to bounce lightly atop the mattress._

“What the hell,” Junho rubs a hand over his eyes, but it’s like a horrendous, impending crash that he can’t stop watching. 

_A second shape, tall, starts to materialize in the corner of the screen where the doorway is, facing the jumping Junho, approaching the bed with a sluggish, lazy stride. Taecyeon._

_“What are you up to?” He chuckles loudly enough to hear, but Junho just grins and leaps to the edge of the bed as Taecyeon sets his bag on the floor, until they’re right in front of each other. Junho towers over him standing on the bed, laughing as Taecyeon tips his head back to look up at him. “I missed you.”_

Junho’s chest clenches at the admission, and he watches, transfixed, as Taecyeon’s arms wind around Junho’s hips and his hands go right for his ass beneath the t-shirt.

_“I missed you, too,” Junho wraps his arms around Taecyeon’s neck, one of his hands crawling up his nape and into his close-cut hair. “How was your day?”_

_Taecyeon sighs heavily, his hands visibly massaging Junho’s backside as he stares up at him, a content smile prodding at his mouth. “Terrible, until now. Yours?”_

_Junho shrugs and leans against him, “Same.” And then he kisses him on the lips._

Junho groans behind his hand. That seems to be all it takes. His on-screen-self practically jumps on Taecyeon, his legs wrap around his waist, their mouths tangle in a deep, seemingly endless kiss that’s all sighs and smacking lips. They’re disgusting—

_Junho hisses suddenly, and Taecyeon’s hearty laugh is swathed in the intermittent little snaps of lips on lips. “Your hands are cold,” Junho tells him, squirming away from the hands that hike his shirt up to the middle of his back and slip over his skin._

_“Then warm them up.”_

He hears one of them make a noise, maybe Taecyeon, but he’s not sure. When they drop onto the bed, Junho’s hold on Taecyeon’s neck guiding him down atop him so their heads are closest to wherever the camera is, their mouths still flush, a stab of guilt rushes through Junho. He feels like an outsider looking in on them, like a voyeur who should look away and give them their privacy, but he doesn’t. He can’t.

_“If you keep wearing this,” Taecyeon pulls away to say, trailing kisses along Junho’s neck, hands vanishing and reappearing, one on Junho’s bare thigh and the other pushing up the t-shirt. Junho wiggles beneath him as the fabric clears his heaving chest. “We’re going to have a problem.”_

_Junho just laughs and shuffles around until he’s pulled the shirt over his head. He throws it onto the floor and levels Taecyeon with a challenging smirk. “There. It’s gone.”_

Junho curses when Taecyeon dives back in and they start making out again, rubbing each other all over, moaning constantly as their bodies grind sensually, sighing each other’s names so harshly Junho jabs a finger on the keys to turn the volume down. 

_At some point Taecyeon suddenly rears up onto his haunches between Junho’s spread legs. He stares down at Junho’s face as he carelessly undoes each button on his shirt while Junho’s hands busy themselves tearing his belt open. The buckle jingles, and one of Junho’s legs snakes impatiently up along Taecyeon’s hip as he yanks down his zipper._

“Oh, no.” Junho covers his eyes again and the moans get louder, fabric rustles audibly, and he can’t help it— he peers between two of his fingers to see what happens next.

_“Taecyeonnie…” Junho mutters. Taecyeon is down between his legs, peeling his briefs from his hips, Junho’s erection springing free against his face._

Junho gasps— if Taecyeon is— if he’s about to—

_Taecyeon wraps his hand around the base of Junho’s cock and strokes it firmly, mouthing the inside of Junho’s thigh with his tongue and his teeth. Junho tilts his head back and peers straight into the camera upside down with a devious smirk, clutching at the sheet beneath his writhing body, licking his lips and moaning softly._

_“Suck me off,” he demands, eyes still on the camera, his gaze clouded over with arousal, panting. And Taecyeon, oblivious, obliges._

Junho takes a sharp intake of breath when it happens. He sees Taecyeon’s mouth close over his double’s tip and he has to look away— he hears his own voice on screen contort into a near growl and it lights something inside him, and the shock gives way to a twitch of his own arousal, hardening embarrassingly quickly beneath the covers. 

Somehow the camera picks up the sloppy sucking noises as Taecyeon works him with his mouth, each one a nail in the coffin that has Junho’s hand sliding down his own torso and underneath the band of his boxers. Junho hums and moans in the video— he doesn’t know when he started watching again— as he holds Taecyeon in place by the back of his neck, hips jerking up and down on the mattress towards release. 

His moans heighten in both volume and urgency in the speakers, and Junho bites his lip at the clear use of power his recorded self exercises over Taecyeon like this, that Taecyeon _lets_ him have. Suddenly video-Junho hisses sharply and the hand on Taecyeon’s neck shoves at his shoulder instead, pushing him upright. 

_Taecyeon’s lips withdraw from Junho’s shiny cock with a wet_ pop _, and he blinks up at Junho, breathless and red-lipped. He crawls up until Junho’s legs wrap about his waist again and his own hands find purchase just outside Junho’s shoulders. Taecyeon looks large, as he looms over Junho, breathing heavily and nuzzling at his jaw and kissing his neck._

_“Do you want me to fuck you?” his voice is ragged, muffled almost into Junho’s throat, and Junho nods vehemently, his eyes shut. Taecyeon is still on top of him as he begins to turn over onto his stomach, eagerly pushing the dramatic curve of his ass against Taecyeon’s still-clothed crotch. Taecyeon grunts, and greedy hands tug Junho by the hips so he’s on his hands and knees in front of him._

_Taecyeon doesn’t take his eyes off of the twin mounds spread before him as he steps out of his boxers and throws them on the floor, reaching down to touch himself as Junho tosses a bottle in his general direction._

Junho stops breathing at the sight of Taecyeon fully nude, the grainy image of his broad, tan chest and the shadows of his jaw and cheekbones, the long arc of his erection against his lower abdomen. He squeezes his cock and feels pre-ejaculate gush from the tip when Taecyeon starts to pour oil into his hand. 

_Junho’s hips give an impatient shimmy that Taecyeon replies with a hand in the small of Junho’s back, pressing down, down, until his spine dips and his ass arches up in the air. He drops his face to the mattress, his knees sliding further apart as Taecyeon presses, not one, but two fingers inside him. He winces, and then his voice spills out, sudden and thick in a shout that quickly becomes lost in the pillows._

He takes a shaky inhale and can’t stop his hand from rubbing up and down his shaft, watching Taecyeon finger him vigorously, Taecyeon’s free hand propped on one ass cheek while Junho keens below, rolling his hips against the fingers pressing into him. 

_It’s too soon when Taecyeon withdraws his fingers. Junho moans in protest and his hand appears, reaching back and pushing his fingers into himself. The muscles in his thighs twitch in time with the quick, haphazard scissoring motion of his own fingers before Taecyeon has his wrist in hand and gingerly pulls them back out. Junho whines and plants both hands flat near his head, spreading his legs a little more as Taecyeon massages more lubricant onto his thick erection._

_His hands encase Junho’s hips as he lines himself up and pushes forward. Junho’s mouth drops open, Taecyeon sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and tosses his head back, and Junho lets out a long cry as Taecyeon slowly sinks into him. The noise cuts off as soon as he’s in completely, dissolving in a curse._

_Junho gasps shakily and Taecyeon’s hands strain to keep Junho’s hips still when his pelvis presses tight to the swell of Junho’s ass, and Taecyeon stills, breathing hard, louder than Junho’s soft whimpers as he adjusts to his size._

Junho goes immobile when they do on-screen, his lips parted in the shock of seeing himself like this— seeing the truth of Taecyeon’s words. His own body, bent over in front of a man whose dick is inside him, wanting it, shivering in anticipation. He sees Taecyeon draw his hips back, sees the abrupt shift of his own face pressing down against the mattress and the muscles in his biceps and forearms tighten, and then Taecyeon starts to fuck him. 

_It’s rough— it looks like it hurts. Junho’s voice leaves him, high, desperate things as Taecyeon thrusts into him at a smooth, ardent pace. He doesn’t pause. His hips smack against Junho’s ass loudly in the room, and Taecyeon moans as he pushes Junho flat onto his stomach and drapes himself along his back, pounding him mercilessly. His fingers spider through Junho’s hair and tug his head back—_

_Junho’s eyes are slits in his face, clenched shut, his open mouth exhales winded moans that roam free in the open air. Taecyeon nudges his nose against Junho’s cheekbone and Junho turns, squeezing clumps of sheets in his hands, until their mouths connect, tongues meeting in a flash of pink between panting lips._

The laptop slips sideways off one thigh when Junho’s leg jerks suddenly as his hand moves over his stiff organ, his lids droop, heavy so the video blurs—

_“Harder,” Junho orders, and the sound of flesh on flesh grows louder, his moans are sharp, accompanied by expletives and groans in the twisted, guttural distortion of Taecyeon’s voice as he obeys._

Junho rocks his hips back and forth, the fiery sensation roiling in him seething to boiling point as he watches the two of them move together in desperate purpose until—

_Junho cries out first, pushing his ass back against Taecyeon’s thrusting hips over and over and then holding them still, even as Taecyeon continues driving him into the mattress. He squeezes the pillow beneath his face and gasps, his shoulder curling up as Taecyeon drops kisses along the inside of his neck until he gives one, two, three hard thrusts and then moans his completion against Junho’s sweaty back._

He’s panting by the end, all the bliss and euphoria of release seeping out in each hurried breath, and in flows shame when he sees the drying spurts of come on his tank, his spent cock still clutched in one hand. He swallows and tears his eyes from the screen as he sits up straighter, lifts his hips to pull his boxers back over himself. 

In his periphery the two shapes in the video still move, sluggish, flesh swishing against fabric, and Junho’s attention is there again to see himself turn over, to see Taecyeon’s hands caressing up and down the length of his sides as their mouths reconnect. One of them whispers, and then they laugh— Junho’s lips draw upwards at the sound and then he bites it off when he catches himself. 

_“I love you,” Junho mumbles, stroking at Taecyeon’s hair with his fingertips, gazing into eyes the camera cannot see. They kiss again, gently, slowly, until Junho rolls Taecyeon over onto his back and lays himself on top of him. He is smiling._

Junho’s chest tightens— the way they are with each other. They go from playful to tender to sexy and back to tender in a matter of seconds. He swipes a hand across his forehead, watching as they whisper to each other, too quietly for the camera to pick up. It’s only then that video-Junho peers up from where Taecyeon is underneath him.

_“I forgot,” he says, and he uses Taecyeon’s chest to push himself upright. Taecyeon’s hands grab for him as he moves away._

_“Where are you going?”_

Junho drops his chin as he watches himself stand, he doesn’t recognize this person, nude and confident as he approaches the camera— Junho glances back at the nightstand, the angle and the height would make it perfect for a video like this— and he averts his gaze back to the screen. 

_“Did you film that?” Comes Taecyeon’s winded, incredulous voice._

_“Mm-hm,” Junho smiles, his flushed face filling the lens, the image shaky now, catching his shoulder, his jaw, his chest as he moves. The mattress shifts under his weight, and then it zooms out. Junho laughs, settling back on the bed and tucking himself tightly against Taecyeon’s side as Taecyeon finds a pillow and uses it to hide his face, groaning in embarrassment._

_“Taecyeonnie,” Junho chides, snatching the pillow away and hurling it onto the floor. Taecyeon wails dramatically and covers his eyes with his hands, mumbling to himself. Junho chuckles, beaming with pride. He presses a kiss to Taecyeon’s neck and turns back to leer into the lens. “Until next time.”_

The screen goes black, and the little window minimizes itself. Junho stares blankly, his computer warm on his thigh. That last image burns in his memory— Taecyeon vulnerable, laid bare literally and figuratively for only Junho to see. Junho’s memories of Taecyeon before this are of a young man who is closed off, tight-lipped and silently intelligent, sarcastic and brash when he has to be. Layered.

_“You can be one way as someone’s friend and completely different as someone’s lover.”_

Taecyeon _has_ changed, Junho realizes. Since he came from the hospital, since Junho punched him that night, Taecyeon has transformed from Junho’s TA into the man in the video, stripped in every sense of the word because— because Taecyeon loves him. 

Junho drops his head back against the high pile of pillows, exhaling a long stream of air through puckered lips. He wonders if Taecyeon ever watched the video, if they watched it together. He wonders whether Taecyeon was really mad about it, or just humiliated. He wonders if there really was a next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That got dirty real fast, my apologies! (Not really) Thanks everyone and sorry for the delay!


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junho discovers some other things about himself.

Friday morning, Junho can’t take his eyes off of Taecyeon. He sits in the car, staring through the window at Taecyeon where he stands at the gas station closest to their building, one hand propped on the nozzle while the other sits in his pocket. His face is turned, but Junho knows he’s watching the price and gallon ticker as it speeds through digits.

He catches himself gaping a little in the mirror, and he seals his mouth shut and rubs an agitated hand over it, but he keeps looking, and Taecyeon remains oblivious until the gas pump locks and he’s opening the door to get back inside the car. Junho gets a whiff of gasoline. 

“You alright?” Taecyeon peers closely at him, a flicker of concern furrowing his brow. So much for being oblivious. Junho checks himself and snaps out of it. He chuckles and turns to face forward. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He says, his voice too loud in the car. He cringes and fingers the seat belt strapped across his chest, not looking at Taecyeon’s face.

“You sure?” Taecyeon presses, the engine revving on and the air conditioning blasting back against his face. Junho takes a deep breath, grateful for the chill on his gradually heating skin. _No, he’s not fucking sure._ He nods vigorously, and Taecyeon finally pulls out of the lot and onto the road to the hospital. 

Junho heaves another sigh, grateful to be moving. He blinks rapidly out of the passenger side window, shifting in his seat. He needed to try to act normal so Taecyeon would stop asking him questions. So that it wouldn’t be obvious that he’d jerked off six of the seven times he watched the sex tape he didn’t remember making, until he was so spent and tired he passed out. 

He slept like a baby— up until the moment he heard knocking, and he opened his eyes to see a fuzzy Taecyeon standing over him in a cruel moment of deja vu. 

_Junho shoots upright when he hears someone in the room._

_“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” He shouts blindly, his eyes still stuck together with sleep. He blinks until Taecyeon swims into focus, frozen and wide-eyed._

_“You scared the crap out of me,” Taecyeon exhales, pushing his falling glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. His chest heaves beneath his t-shirt, and Junho’s gaze falls to the space next to him on the bed. The now very empty space next to him where he had left his laptop._

_“WH- WHAT HAPPENED TO MY COMPUTER?” Junho starts to panic, lifting up the comforter and only seeing his own legs. He lifts his butt, frantic, but it’s not underneath him. Taecyeon shuffles closer to the edge of the bed, raising his arms above his head in a stretch._

_Junho’s eyes eagle onto the stripe of skin between his shirt hem and the waistband of his sweats, and he curses to himself, colorfully._

_“I moved it,” Taecyeon is saying matter-of-factly, his lips pursed as he points to the nightstand. Junho whips around his head to see— it’s shut. “Come eat before your appointment.” Junho’s heart is thudding in his chest when he turns to meet Taecyeon’s eyes. He’s standing with his hands on his hips, just at the edge of the bed._ Our bed, _a slimy little voice in Junho’s head tells him, and he cringes, curling his fingers around the sheet beneath him._

_His eyes grow in their sockets. Taecyeon’s brow wrinkles with worry. His tongue flicks out over his lips— lips, Junho realizes with his pulse pounding in his ears, that know his own very well, lips that he saw on his own skin. He teeters a little where he sits on the bed, staring, dizzy with the ghost of sensation when those lips wrapped around him and sucked him in—_

_“Oh my god,” he whimpers to himself, faintly registering Taecyeon stepping closer to the bed. So close. Too close._

_“Junho,” he says carefully, “are you coming?”_

_Coming. Coming, coming, coming. The word reverberates around Junho’s skull until his head throbs with it, and—_

_“Argh!” he screams, clenching his eyes shut to make it stop. He grabs a pillow and hurls it at Taecyeon’s face._

He sneaks a sideways glance at Taecyeon, who just raps his knuckles on the steering wheel as they wait at a light, mumbling lyrics from the radio under his breath. He hadn’t said much about the pillow— he just cast Junho several spooked looks over breakfast. 

But did he see the video or did the display fall asleep? Could he detect the smell of sex coming from Junho’s body in such strong waves Junho scented it on himself and scrubbed his body raw in the shower? If he had, he hasn’t mentioned it. 

Junho realizes he’s staring again, and has the sudden urge to slap himself across the face. But he gets it now. Taecyeon's long hungry stares, how weird Taecyeon got when Junho wore that shirt— _oh, god_ Junho thinks. That fucking shirt.

They had a completely different relationship from what they had when Junho was in school, what they have now. Their marriage was as physical as it was emotional, judging by the porno video they— rather, his perverted future-past-whatever self— made. His eyes wander to Taecyeon again as Taecyeon turns his head to peer out of the driver's side window.

They find the navy Windsor knot at Taecyeon's throat and trail down the long line of his torso. His pale green button down halts at a smooth leather belt like the one Junho watched himself rip open again and again. He knows what Taecyeon looks like under those clothes.

He swallows with difficulty. He knows what that chest looks like pressed tight to his own, to his back. He knows how hard and loud Taecyeon breathes when he's turned on, how his eyes are dark and lidded. He knows that Taecyeon fucks the same way he does everything else: giving it all he's got.

A shiver races down his spine, and he shifts in his seat and has to grip the arm rest. He inhales stiffly through his nose at the detour his mind has taken.

"Is the air too high?" Taecyeon reaches out for the dial, but Junho shakes his head, and Taecyeon places his hand back on the wheel, eying him warily.

Junho doesn't respond verbally right away, but he blinks once, rubs his sweaty palms against his jeans, and clears his throat. 

“Hey, give me your phone,” he waits the nanosecond or two it takes Taecyeon to pull his eyes from the road when he breaks his silence. 

“What for?” Taecyeon asks, relief loosening up the taut muscles in his face. He lifts his hips to pull his phone from his pocket. Junho shrugs and holds his hand out.

“I want to see some pictures.” That makes Taecyeon’s mouth lift, just so, at one corner, and Junho feels the weight of the phone in his palm. “Watch the road,” he scolds, turning away and keying in Taecyeon’s passcode. 

“Yes, sir.”

Junho shares a silent, secret, possibly crazed grin with himself at those words.

“January,” he chooses aloud, earning an intrigued glance from Taecyeon. The attack was at the end of March— Junho recalls that detail, and it occurs to him that he has no feelings about it, the attack itself. It’s just a fact that exists, nothing more and nothing less. 

When he tries to think about the attack or how to feel about it, there’s a high wall in his mind that he cannot traverse. He doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not. He sighs and flicks through the pictures, smiling at what he sees. 

“You have a lot of selfies,” Junho comments, mildly amused each time he sees up-close images of Taecyeon’s face, smiling sweetly in some and making cutesy faces in others. 

“I send those to you,” Taecyeon _pouts_ , and Junho laughs out loud. “You think I’m cute.” Junho shakes his head, but his mouth quivers around a persistent smile because they actually _are_ cute. His face grows hot suddenly. He remembers Taecyeon hiding behind a pillow, hiding behind his hands. He bites his lip and wills the image, the arousal, away and moves on. 

It’s more or less the same as what Junho found on his computer, them together, them with friends. Except these look like they went on vacation. “Where were we?” He asks absently, jealous of the orange sunset backdrop, the gold and aqua of sand and waves he sees in photos where they walk hand in hand, where they pose together, silhouettes joined at the lips.

Taecyeon looks his way in his periphery. The morning outside the car windows darkens to the halogen-lit tunnel of the hospital parking garage. “Turks and Caicos. For your birthdays,” Taecyeon replies him, pulling into his usual spot. 

Junho snorts. “No clue what that is,” he remarks, skipping through the next ones. His lagging brain takes the moment to catch up, but just as he’s about to ask Taecyeon why he said _your birthdays_ , he stops. 

There are four people in the picture, all standing on the beach. From left to right it is Junho, Taecyeon, and two others. Both pairs are distinctly coupled. He has to squint when he sees a face he doesn’t recognize, and one that he does.

“Is that— is that Dr. Kim?”

*

“So,” Dr. Kim begins, and it reminds Junho of their first session. He pockets his hands in his jeans and continues the aimless walk he’s begun around Dr. Kim’s office. He stops at the huge window overlooking the courtyard. 

“So,” he repeats, a tiny smile curling his mouth. He turns to see Dr. Kim eying him from his chair, his head tilted, a patient grin lighting his face. He crosses one leg over the other, and Junho notices that his notebook is nowhere in sight. It must be the occasion.

“Twelve weeks,” Dr. Kim claps his hands together, radiating a gentle excitement that doesn’t really match the wistfulness in his voice, that has been in his voice for the last few sessions as they approached this one. The last one, as dictated by Junho’s neurologist. “We’ve finally come to this moment.”

“Yeah,” Junho sighs, lowering himself onto the window sill. “We have.”

Dr. Kim shifts in his chair, but he remains calm, natural. If Junho’s behavior strikes him as odd, he’s giving Junho nothing to know it. Psychiatrists. 

“Do you feel like this has been helpful?” Dr. Kim dives right in, poised and focused, completely different from the person Junho saw in the pictures. The person Taecyeon called _Minjun_ with a guilty grimace and a _we wanted to tell you_. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Junho’s gaze wanders as he takes a deep inhale, finding one of the paintings on the walls: a couple, a kiss that never begins, faces wearing the folds of white shrouds. He narrows his eyes in consideration, at a loss. He studies the painting, listens to the two of them breathe, to the sound of birds through the glass at his back and the distant snap of a car door shutting.

“Some people choose therapy for a glimpse of their own face,” Dr. Kim breaks the silence, and Junho tears his eyes from the art to see that the doctor is standing now and has followed his line of sight, up at the painting opposite the window. He clutches the back of the chair he abandoned and cocks his head to examine the painting he’s probably looked at countless times, whose meaning he probably grasped on the first try. 

It’s not the first time Junho’s wondered what was going on inside Dr. Kim’s head. He smiles to himself, and drops his chin.

“I didn’t choose therapy,” he points out finally, earning Dr. Kim’s gaze. He shrugs one shoulder. “Dr. Choi did. Taecyeon did. You all chose it for me,” he sighs and folds his hands in his lap. Dr. Kim chuckles and gives him an understanding nod. 

“Sure we did,” he agrees, and he takes a few steps closer, his eyes intent on Junho’s. “But you chose to continue.”

Junho snorts and rolls his eyes, and Dr. Kim crosses his arms over his chest, a light chuckle kicking up from his lungs. Junho inclines his head, conceding all points to Dr. Kim as he moves to take the other available seat on the wide ledge inside the window. 

His eyes find the glitter of Dr. Kim’s gold watch beneath the sleeve on his vibrantly-patterned cream shirt. It looks expensive. He sniffs and lifts his eyes to Dr. Kim’s to find him already there, a sad smile highlighting his cheekbones.  
Junho inhales through his nose, and thinks back to what Taecyeon told him in the car. 

“You know me,” he states plainly, dropping all pretenses. He understands the _why_ of it all, and Dr. Kim clearly understands the meaning in Junho’s words. His smile drops just so at one side, but he pushes it back up. He nods and casts his eyes aside for a split second before meeting Junho’s once again with a curt nod.

“I do,” he admits, and he doesn’t move to say anything more. He lets Junho stare at him for the time that he needs it— and Junho is grateful for Dr. Kim’s perceptiveness, because he does need the time. Dr. Kim is patient and kind, collected and professional. But in the shadows of his comments Junho picks up a biting wit and a sense of humor as polychromatic as his wardrobe.

He feels his brow tense under the weight of his frown, and the slight axial tilt of Dr. Kim’s head silently prompts Junho for the reason for its existence. 

“Why would someone like you,” Junho uses a hand to gesture at Dr. Kim, at _Minjun_ , hoping that little wave of his palm captures every genuine kernel of _heart_ that he’s come to discover in Minjun over the last twelve weeks. And then he tips a finger to his own chest, and it’s like a bullet races straight through his heart, his voice tight when he finishes, “be friends with someone like me?”

Junho can’t understand— he is closed, while Dr. Kim is open. Junho is rage, Dr. Kim is serenity. Those things are not complimentary.

“But then again, when you met me, I was probably way different from how I am now—” he rolls his eyes at himself, momentarily confused, “—how I was in medical school…” He winces, but Dr. Kim just nods his comprehension, his eye contact steady, but conveying only his intent to listen before he weighs in. Junho is sure whatever Dr. Kim has to say will be scathing, and he knows he deserves it.

He scrubs a hand down the side of his face, groaning under his breath at himself. This wasn’t what he pictured for session twelve. He takes a deep breath that rounds in his chest. “I was probably better,” he mumbles, thinking back to the man in the video, whose face he knew to be his own, but whose words and actions drew from emotions he didn’t feel and didn’t think he could ever feel. 

Confidence. His eyes drop to the richly colored rug. Love.

That man was better. And that is why he has everything— a genuine friend like Dr. Kim, money, a beautiful apartment and clothes for miles, a nice car, a job he loves. And waking up every morning to that huge bed and that view of the city and that _husband_ , Junho feels like a lucky thief.

He clenches his jaw, a dull burn behind his eyes for tears that do not manifest, but he feels them, a tight, hot ball in his chest. Something soft lights on his arm, and his breath hitches.

Dr. Kim has slid closer to him, and he looks down to see their thighs touching, denim and black wool. His eyes track upwards to the hand that has wrapped around his elbow. Dr. Kim smiles and brings his other hand to lock Junho’s arm in his grasp. 

Junho’s nose itches with the urge to cry, an appreciative smile is a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“You were different,” Dr. Kim confesses with an exhale, his voice level. His eyes dart away to travel around the room before returning. They are wet. “You liked yourself more, for one.” He shrugs a teasing shoulder against Junho’s arm and Junho coughs out a bitter laugh.

“I was better,” he says out loud, and he has to bite his bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

Dr. Kim shakes his head abruptly. “You were different,” he repeats, his voice soft but emphatic. “We met at a play.”

Junho screws his face up a bit in disbelief. He went to plays? Dr. Kim smiles distantly at the wall behind his head, and Junho tries to remain very still so Dr. Kim won’t think he wants him to let go. Because he certainly doesn’t.

“I got stood up by the person I was seeing,” he wrinkles his nose in a mixture of disgust and irritation one usually feels for exes. Junho snorts, but he briefly wonders if it’s the guy in the picture— older than all of them, wearing a tacky floral shirt. “It didn’t work out for us in the end. Plus, we had the same last name,” he points out, aggressively shaking his head. 

“Yeah, that’s a big no,” Junho agrees sarcastically, chuckling. Dr. Kim grins and carries on.

“So, it was obvious I got stood up. I think you saw me calling him, leaving a message, and you— creeper— stood around until I was done and said, ‘Hey guy in the cool shoes, why don’t you come in with me?’”

Junho gawks, his mouth sloping in an astonished smile. “I did that?”

Dr. Kim nods, still grinning. “And I was like, _who is this crazy guy? Is he trying to pick me up? Should I pepper spray him?_ ”

They both curl at the waist and laugh, real hearty laughs that burn in Junho’s stomach and push the tears— different tears— to the corners of his eyes.

“I would have pepper sprayed me,” Junho comments, laughing. 

“Yeah, but then I saw how cute you were,” Dr. Kim reaches forward and— Junho doesn’t react fast enough— pokes him in the cheek. 

“What— did you just—?”

“Get used to it,” Dr. Kim says out of the corner of his mouth, his eyes flashing suddenly with something playful and dangerous that’s gone just as soon as it appeared. His eyes give into a sweet smile and he squeezes Junho’s arm. Junho smiles, too. He can get used to all of this.

“How long ago was that?” Junho asks, his brain conjuring up images, scenarios, attempting to create their first encounter for this new mind of his to remember since the real one is lost. 

Dr. Kim peers up in thought, “Two years ago, maybe?”

Junho nods soberly, disappointed at how all of that was suddenly interrupted. Dr. Kim watches him, and then inclines his head. 

“I decided I wasn’t going to ask you this before you walked in, but now that I see you and I’m talking to you,” Dr. Kim’s voice drops with just a hint of uncertainty Junho has never heard before. He lowers his gaze, almost shyly, “If you’d like, you can see me anytime. Outside of this office. Like before.”

He lifts his eyes to meet Junho’s, and at Junho’s silence he begins to shake his head dismissively. “If you’d like. You don’t have to if—”

“No, shut up. Of course I want to,” Junho cuts in, grabbing onto one of the hands still holding his arm. Dr. Kim pouts, but his eyes betray a giddy, childlike smile.

He pats Junho gingerly on the forearm and then lets go. “Now for today, you’re still my patient, so I shouldn’t be hugging you.” He chides, unwinding his arms from Junho. Junho snickers at the sudden personality shift and nods. 

“So,” Dr. Kim jerks out an arm to shift his sleeve aside, peering cartoonishly at his gleaming gold watch. “We have ten minutes left. I want you to answer two questions, both in one sentence.”

Junho nods, “That’s easy.”

Dr. Kim holds up a finger, “What is the weirdest thing, the most unexpected thing, you’ve discovered about yourself since waking up?”

Junho snorts. “Aside from the fact that I like it up the ass?”

Dr. Kim screws his eyes shut and drops his face into his hands. Junho chuckles, proud of his crude joke. He thinks to add that he also likes making sex tapes. The shell of Dr. Kim’s ear has turned red.

“Yes, Junho,” he says, his voice muffled behind his hands. He sighs heavily and drops them to level Junho with a chastising expression. “Aside from that.” He purses his lips. 

Junho’s snickers dissolve slowly, and he turns his head to think. That was actually a lie. He knew he was into that sort of thing— college was his time to watch porn without his mom or sister opening his door. So he did. A lot. And then, once he thought he’d jerked it out of himself, he forced himself to stop.

He smiles faintly when it comes to him: morning, the smell of coffee he doesn’t drink, wrinkled clothes and uncombed hair. And it feels nice, when he looks at Dr. Kim and he knows he can say this to him, much less that he can say it at all. “I think Taecyeon is cute.”

Dr. Kim’s mouth rises a little, a wrinkle appears on his cheek before it vanishes and he continues smoothly, raising a second finger. “What are you looking forward to the most once this session is over?” 

Junho bites his lip, shifting his body to turn and face Dr. Kim on the window sill. “What I’m looking forward to today?” He clarifies, furrowing his brows. 

Dr. Kim shrugs. “Today, or further in the future.”

Junho sticks his lips out pensively. He knows as much about his future as he knows about his past— very little. So, he focuses solely on today. Friday. His favorite day of the week. Dr. Kim’s smile is waiting for him when he turns with his reply on his tongue.

“Tonight’s pizza night.”


	13. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junho and Taecyeon get started on that pizza.

They are in the elevator in their building when Junho decides not to be angry with Taecyeon for lying to him about Minjun. But that doesn’t mean toying with him won’t be fun.

He moves to the back wall of the elevator and settles against it, both hands out at his sides bracing his weight on the cold metal railing. He keeps his chin up, his mouth tight, eyes straight ahead as a wary Taecyeon files in right behind him. His eyes flick up to Junho’s face quickly before he looks away to break the silence that spread over them since they left the hospital around six.

“Do you think you’re ready to start work?”

Junho averts his gaze to Taecyeon, whose eyes are on him now. He meets them with a mildly sleepy, pensive smile. Just the sight of it smooths some of the worried wrinkles in Taecyeon’s forehead.

“If they just want me to sit there, then sure,” he answers, even as surprise nudges at the back of his mind. He’d expected Taecyeon to ask about Minjun, about the therapy. Taecyeon turns momentarily to press the button for their floor. The square next to the digit illuminates, fluorescent gold on silver. The doors slide closed and Taecyeon pivots his body to face Junho completely, peering down at the floor with slow steps that carry him closer.

“You did some programming today, right?” The elevator cage soars upwards, but that’s not the cause of the tiny lurch in Junho’s belly. Taecyeon hovers just in front of him and leans a hand on the railing, right next to Junho’s.

His face dips down, and it is inches that separate them now. His presence, the proximity, is a pleasant burn Junho feels in the tips of his fingers, a buzz in his cells that yearns to shorten that distance. But Junho stands his ground and holds perfectly still in the wake of Taecyeon’s sudden flare of confidence. He’s intrigued, he’s attracted— he’s terrified. He looks Taecyeon dead in the eye.

“I did,” he replies in an even voice. Taecyeon’s eyes flicker between his, probing, trying so hard to read what Junho has purposely erased from his face. Junho’s smile is vain and internal.

Taecyeon nods and slips his free hand into his pocket. “I could take a look,” he offers, his eyes curious and genuine behind his lenses. They’re so genuine Junho wonders for a second just what is happening: is Taecyeon flirting? Or does he mean what he’s saying? And if he does mean it, how useful would he really be?

Junho furrows his eyebrows, skeptical. “Don’t tell me you can program,” he mutters in disbelief, regarding Taecyeon through narrowed eyes. The hazy amber glow warms Taecyeon’s tan face, and the shadows in the elevator fill the dimples in his cheeks as a slow, smug smile rolls over his lips.

“I can do everything,” he remarks with an insistent quirk to his eyebrows. Junho laughs, letting his head tip back against the wall. The floor solidifies beneath his feet as a familiar _ding_ announces they’ve arrived at their destination. Taecyeon’s eyes are heat on Junho’s face as Junho pushes past him and through the doors, smirking to himself as Taecyeon’s footsteps follow him to the apartment.

“You have no shame,” Junho says as they walk inside. Taecyeon chuckles and flicks on all the lights. They discard their things on the sofa and head straight for the kitchen. Junho sees the fridge and his hunger hits him hard, a pang in his stomach. He pulls a bag of chips down and stuffs a few in his mouth, clutching it close to his chest and leaning against the island.

“So,” Taecyeon sighs, looking his way and reaching for the chips. Junho weaves out of his reach and stands on the opposite side of the island. Taecyeon levels him with an impatient look before he gives up and continues his thought. “What if we just made a cheese pizza and then added whatever topping we wanted to it after it’s done?”

Junho wrinkles his nose and throws the chips down on the counter. “But I wanted chicken,” he whines, crossing his arms over his chest, because a pizza without chicken is the worst thing in the world. Taecyeon snatches up the chips, and Junho gawks at what he’s done.

“You can add it after,” Taecyeon reasons, smiling victoriously and eating some chips. He dusts the crumbs off his hands and reaches up to jerk unsuccessfully at the knot in his tie. “We still have what my mom sent us,” he whirls around, tie in hand, to open the fridge. He produces a huge tupperware container of the fried chicken his mom made and pops the lid off with flourish.

Junho gasps and makes a grabby motion for it, and Taecyeon grins absently and crosses to him. He waves the chicken just under Junho’s waiting nose as he takes a deep inhale of fried chicken-y garlicky goodness. It still smells fresh.

Taecyeon snorts and the scent is gone. Junho opens his eyes and the chicken is lidded, and Taecyeon’s retreating back places it far, far away near the stove. Taecyeon sighs and tugs his tie over his head, dropping it on the island. He slips into the space next to the stool Junho has claimed, bending at the waist and leaning onto his forearms on the counter.

“Ok, so we have chicken,” he starts naming off, peering around the kitchen before his eyes swivel back to meet Junho’s. “Anything else?”

Junho shrugs and reaches out to grab Taecyeon’s abandoned tie. “A vegetable,” he suggests, dropping his gaze to the long strip of navy blue silk in his hands. He coils it around one wrist, slips his opposite hand through the widened but still intact loop Taecyeon made to pull it off. He lifts his eyes to tell Taecyeon to check the fridge— but Taecyeon is distracted.

Taecyeon’s eyes are on the tie, on the slow, absent twirl of the fabric in Junho’s hands. The hairs on the back of Junho’s neck rise, alert, and a delightful tingle ripples from his nape to the base of his spine. He hears Taecyeon’s drawn out inhale, and sees the breath in the gradual expanse of Taecyeon’s chest. When Taecyeon’s eyes flick back up to meet his own and they sparkle with unchecked amusement, a sudden thought burns in Junho’s mind.

One of them— or both— likes to be tied up.

“Alright,” Taecyeon beats his palms atop the counter, excited. “Let’s get started.”

Junho nods in a bit of a stupor, all the coolness and the calm from earlier seeping out of him in a heavy tide. Whatever that was, that knowing look in Taecyeon’s eyes when Junho touched the tie, the invasion of his personal space in the elevator, Junho wants more of it. He peers down at the tie as he sets it down, a tiny smile quivering on his mouth.

He’s never been one to sit idly by and wait for something he wanted to come to him.

He gets up and moves to the overhead cabinets for the regulars: saucepan, mixing bowl, utensils. He grabs flour, yeast, oil, and sugar and places them on the counter while Taecyeon washes his hands.

Pizza night every Friday has become a tradition, if anything can become a tradition in only a few weeks.

One of the generous allowances the hospital makes for Taecyeon is that he leaves early Friday afternoons around five or six. Junho waits after his therapy session in the hospital cafeteria or the medical library, plugging away at code on his laptop. Junho wonders if, now that his therapy is over, things will be any different. He doesn’t want them to be.

He watches from the corner of one eye as Taecyeon carefully measures out the dry ingredients for the crust, focused on his task. He purses his lips, a flare of frustration ripping through him. The pictures from Taecyeon’s birthday suddenly appear behind his eyes, the ones from the vacation during his own birthday, the _video_ — it was everything Junho ever wanted from a marriage: chemistry, affection, the inability to keep their hands off of one another. Happiness.

His gaze catches the glint of overhead light that bounces off the gold band on his ring finger. He lifts his eyes to his reflection in the window above the sink, darkened by the evening sky. He looks at his face, the resolved stare of his own eyes in the glass. He is the same man in that video, in those photos, and this ring, this apartment and everything in it is his. And that includes Taecyeon.

“You wanna start the sauce, or should I?”

Junho comes back to his surroundings at Taecyeon’s voice. He turns from the sink, and Taecyeon is already whisking at the creamy white mixture Junho knows to be the yeast and sugar in a large glass bowl. He pushes a smile onto his face and shuts off the water, twisting his washed hands in a towel.

“I’ll start it, but you can chop the garlic. I don’t want my hands all smelly,” he makes a face, and Taecyeon turns with an upbeat chuckle.

“Ok.”

Junho pours oil in the steel saucepan on the range. He flicks on the heat with a turn of his wrist. Taecyeon clears his throat and appears in the counter space at his side, laying down the bamboo cutting board. Two cloves of garlic sit atop it, along with green herbs Junho can’t name. He leans down to sniff at them, the rich, spicy sweet licorice-like scent that tastes wonderful in tomato sauce.

“Basil,” Taecyeon tells him, plucking a knife from the knife block sitting back against the wall. He starts to peel the outer skin from the garlic, and then commences milling the blade through the slices he makes.

Junho pulls his lip between his teeth. “You look good in a kitchen,” he says, unable to stop himself. The words are out and he can’t take them back, now. He can only keep going. Taecyeon lets out a derisive snort, chopping away now at the basil.

“As opposed to a library?” He remarks, and Junho’s heart flutters. The library. It’s something he knows, something they _both_ remember. He smiles then, marvelling at Taecyeon’s profile. _Yes_ , he thinks to himself. _I could fall for him._

He drops his eyes to the oil starting to thin in the skillet, turns the dial to lower the heat. “You just look good,” he states, meaning it. His face and neck burn, his collar is hot and irritating against his skin. He dares a glance up at Taecyeon. There’s a slight pink tint to his ears and his cheeks. Junho’s smile widens.

Taecyeon clears his throat. “Garlic.” He keeps his eyes on his hands as he moves closer, dumping all of the garlic and basil into the saucepan, a fragrant hiss sounding in the kitchen. Junho finds one of the large cans of tomato sauce and cuts the lid under the automatic opener. He likes seeing Taecyeon like this— blushing, shy.

He likes being the one to make him this way.

Emboldened, he takes a deep breath and rejoins Taecyeon at the stove where he’s prodding at the garlic and basil with a spatula. He sets the can on the counter and props a hand on one hip. “So that picture—” he swallows, because Taecyeon isn’t the only one he’s pushing here, he’s pushing himself just as hard.

“—That picture by our bed,” he says the words _our bed_ as quickly as he can without stuttering, his heart begins its brisk jog before the inevitable race. He wills his eyes to remain on Taecyeon’s profile, wills voice not to shake. “What’s it from?”  
Taecyeon stills for so small a fraction of a second Junho wonders if he actually saw it. His lips slip upwards into a faint smile, and he turns to peer at Junho’s face. His eyes draw a simple constellation across it as they linger first on Junho’s eyes, then lower maybe to a cheek, down around his chin, back up to his eyes.

“Our first date.”

Junho sighs, his cheeks heavy with the sudden smile that doesn’t want to leave his lips. The photo flashes briefly across his mind: the two of them in a restaurant booth, Taecyeon’s arm around his shoulders, Junho’s at Taecyeon’s waist, awkward smiles, a messy ponytail and a chubby face.

He knew from where it is in the apartment that it had to be important. In the bedroom, by the bed, away from prying eyes.

“That smells good,” he changes the subject, peering down at the now browned garlic. Taecyeon hums in agreement. Junho lets his eyes wander up to Taecyeon’s face again, the smooth line of his jaw, the double jut of each half of his open collar, pastel green against tan skin. The fabric stretches taut across the width of his chest, pinched around buttons that look like they are barely holding on.

Junho wants to touch him. He wants Taecyeon to touch him, but he knows Taecyeon won’t do it on his own.

“Sauce,” Taecyeon prompts, and Junho tips the can over the skillet, smooth red sauce flowing in as Taecyeon stirs slowly. Junho stands close, and every move of Taecyeon’s arm is a graze of his elbow against Junho’s stomach. It’s a dull ache in his chest when the last of the sauce falls into the pan. Taecyeon clears his throat again and shoots Junho a quick grin before he moves away, back to the dough.

Junho sighs and watches him upend the bowl and scoop all the dough out onto the cutting board, a big white glob atop the surface. He remembers his role for this part and slides the huge bag of flour closer to himself as Taecyeon presses his hands to the dough and starts kneading. Junho takes handfuls of flour every so often and dusts the cutting board and the dough— and Taecyeon’s hands— with it so it doesn’t stick.

They work like that for a few minutes until it’s a solid form beneath Taecyeon’s hands. Junho stares at his own hands. They are covered with flour. His nostrils flare with a sudden impulse.

 _Smack_.

Taecyeon jumps when Junho’s hand strikes him, and he turns, shocked, confused, and wide-eyed onto Junho. Junho laughs innocently, and glances down to admire his handiwork. A big white handprint right on Taecyeon’s ass. Junho’s glad he wore black pants today.

“Junho—” Taecyeon grunts, his voice choking off suddenly. He swallows, and blinks once, twice. Junho’s shoulders tremble as he chuckles, proud of himself. Taecyeon releases an even sigh. “Careful,” he utters to him, recovering slowly. “I might enjoy that kind of thing.” He narrows his eyes meaningfully, pinning Junho with a stare. But Junho matches it.

Something hot and familiar coils up inside him, and his shoulders roll back, his spine lengthens and his chin tilts upward, bold.

“Do you?” Junho asks, his floury hand twitching at his side, twitching to do it again. To do something more than what they’re doing now. He licks his lips. “I do.”  


Taecyeon’s lips seal, and the faint smirk on his lips shrivels into a shape that’s much more serious, and he stares, unblinkingly at Junho. A rosy color blooms onto his face. He is silent.

A muscle in Junho’s cheek shudders with another smile, and he tears his eyes away. “I think you’ve worked the dough enough,” he mentions off handedly, jerking his chin in the direction of the dough Taecyeon’s fingers have neglected. Taecyeon shakes his head back to awareness and tugs his hands from the dough, swiping the back of his arm across his damp forehead.

Junho steps away for another bowl, coats it with olive oil like they always do, and holds it out for Taecyeon to drop the dough into. They cover it with plastic wrap, Taecyeon purposefully avoiding Junho’s eyes, Junho smirking. Taecyeon places the dough in the cabinet to let the yeast do its magic and rise, and he turns back to Junho, dusting his hands together.

Junho grabs a handful of flour and flings it at Taecyeon’s face. Taecyeon sputters to a stop, flour splattering across his glasses and tumbling down his nose like snow. Junho throws his head back and laughs, clutching his stomach.

“I’m not even sorry,” he manages, doubled over, tears squeezing from the corners of his eyes. Taecyeon coughs and a white cloud of puffs in front of his face. Junho laughs again, but they die down when he sees Taecyeon grab his own handful. His hand scrabbles at the hem of Junho’s shirt before Junho makes on the other side of the island.

“Come here,” Taecyeon stares at him menacingly, flour sifting from his closed fist. Junho laughs, bracing his hands on the island shielding him. Taecyeon narrows his eyes at him, but it’s hardly threatening with the flour all over his nose and mouth. Without warning, Taecyeon shoots off to one side of the island and Junho yelps, running in the opposite direction.

He’s just at the doorway to the living room when Taecyeon snares him from behind, one arm firm around his waist, dragging him back into the kitchen. Junho laughs, breathless.

“No!” he slaps haphazardly at Taecyeon’s hand dangling above his head, flour falling and sprinkling all around them onto the kitchen floor. Taecyeon grunts and snickers against his neck, panting. His arm loosens, and Junho peers back in surprise, in disappointment, when Taecyeon starts to let him go.

“Just wait,” Taecyeon warns him, throwing whatever flour remains in his hand into the sink. He brushes his hands together and heads back to the stove. Junho’s laughter diminishes to chuckles, and he takes tentative steps towards Taecyeon. Taecyeon pulls his glasses from his face and wipes them against his shirt before putting them back onto his nose.

Junho leans one hand on the counter, sluggishly coming down from his high, from finally touching Taecyeon, from unnerving Taecyeon to the point that he slipped out of whatever duty he was determined to fulfill. His body still thrums from the contact, and he wants to punch himself for not doing this sooner.

“You look like you want to kill me,” Junho taunts, a light snicker leaving his throat as Taecyeon grabs a wooden spoon and stirs the simmering sauce. Taecyeon smirks, not looking his way.

“I want to do a lot of things to you.”

Junho’s breath catches in his throat. The corner of Taecyeon’s mouth rouses, and he spoons some of the sauce out and turns to Junho with it. He cups his free hand beneath to catch any drippings, and his eyes find Junho’s, intense, but half-hidden behind still-cloudy lenses.

“Blow.”

Any air in Junho’s lungs is trapped. He blinks, but his eyes stay, drawn to Taecyeon’s. His takes a shaky inhale and presses his lips together to push cool air between them. The sauce is thick and scarlet on the spoon, it smells like Italy. But all Junho can think of is the man holding it. He parts his lips as Taecyeon tips the spoon against them and between them, and the flavor that bursts on his tongue is tangy and sweet, rustic and bold.

He licks whatever sauce he feels remaining on his lips, his heart pounding when he looks back up at Taecyeon. Taecyeon’s eyes travel over every part of Junho’s face, and he feels them, a nearly tangible caress on his mouth. His lips part again and he tilts his jaw up, just as Taecyeon’s face drops a fraction—

The buzzer rings sharply, effectively severing whatever pull had just rendered Junho thoughtless. Taecyeon blinks, and his eyes look a little sharper, a bit more focused, when he withdraws and lowers the spoon to place it back into the sauce. He has flour all over his face and his shirt— and his pants, thanks to Junho.

“I’ll-uh,” Junho’s voice is tight, so he coughs a little before carrying on, “I’ll get it.” Taecyeon just nods, and Junho pushes himself away from the counter and heads to the living room. He hits the button for whoever it is to come inside and access the elevators. He furrows his brows, waiting.

Chansung wouldn’t try to come by again, would he? He worries his lip— they hadn’t ended on the best note yesterday, but Junho would rather _not_ have to deal with another apology when he didn’t really understand what happened, himself. A heavy knock brings him back to the present.

He pulls the door open. It’s not Chansung.

“I know you,” Junho blurts out— a man a few inches taller than himself stands there, sporting a neat dyed brown haircut. His eyes are big and his face is small, his mouth tugs at the corners in a friendly smile as he lifts a hand to point at his own chest.

“You know me?” He asks, surprised, excited— and Junho narrows his eyes and wrinkles his brow because this guy looks so familiar but he just can’t place him. Junho nods fervently, holding onto the door and staring openly at this handsome stranger who may not _be_ a stranger.

The man lets free an easy-going chuckle and extends a hand, “I’m Nichkhun.”

And then Junho’s eyes double in size and he gasps aloud, “YES!” as he takes Nichkhun’s hand and shakes it— Of course! Nichkhun! Taecyeon’s roommate! Now Junho points his finger at Nichkhun as the memories slowly trickle back in. “You’re in law school!”

Nichkhun laughs again, tossing his head back a little and then shaking it when their eyes come level once more. “No, I’m an attorney now, thank god.” His shoulders quiver with another laugh, and Junho laughs too, because it’s contagious and he’s so _happy_ that he finally sees someone he _knows_. Nichkhun leans forward to peek past him into the apartment, “Taec’s not around, is he? I was hoping to talk to you alone—”

Suddenly the door slips from Junho’s grasp and he feels a warm body against his own, behind him. He peers up to see Taecyeon, still covered in flour, eyes boring a hole into Nichkhun’s face.

“Taec!” Nichkhun shouts, but Taecyeon just sighs, his mood completely soured compared to earlier in the kitchen.

“You’re coming behind my back?”

Nichkhun’s smile falls like a charade, and his hands find their way into his pockets, and he clenches his jaw, his friendly eyes suddenly steely, matching Taecyeon’s gaze. “Yes,” he answers firmly.

Junho’s eyes bounce between the two of them, confused, entertained. Taecyeon scoffs, and just like that he moves away from Junho and pads into the living room, running a hand through his floury hair.

Junho blinks, a little concerned when he turns his eyes back to Nichkhun, but he figures a little drama to make Taecyeon uncomfortable will be kind of fun. A smirk tilts Junho’s lips upwards, “Do you want to come in?”

Nichkhun glances at him, and his face flickers back to that sweet, inviting smile. He inclines his head to Junho politely.

“Yes, thank you.”


	14. Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Nichkhun.

Nichkhun steps inside the apartment when Junho moves to let him, sending Junho a gracious smile as he removes his shoes and leaves them by the door. Junho follows after Nichkhun as he opens his arms wide, his big brown eyes softening when they meet Taecyeon’s. 

The volume and pitch of his voice drop when he says, “Hey, big guy,” in a belated greeting.

Taecyeon’s eyes travel over Nichkhun’s face, and he sighs reluctantly before he mutters just as quietly, “Hey Khun.”  


They share a hug Junho can only describe as sweet. He folds his arms across his chest and drops his eyes, hears them give each other hearty pats on the back before they separate. Nichkhun turns to smile at Junho again, stuffing his hands in his denim pockets as he settles on the sofa. He clears his throat loudly. 

“What are you guys cooking?”

“Pizza,” Junho returns his smile and lowers himself onto the arm of the couch. He brushes at the dusting of flour on the front of his shirt, suddenly self-conscious. Nichkhun wiggles impressed eyebrows and turns to Taecyeon, who’s still standing by the coffee table, his hands on his hips. He shoots Nichkhun a glare before retreating back into the kitchen.

 _Interesting_ , Junho muses to himself. This hot and cold thing is a new side of Taecyeon he hasn’t seen before. He pulls his eyes away from the spot Taecyeon vacated, just as Nichkhun turns to peer up at him, astonished eyes roving over his face. 

“Wow,” he gasps, “you really look good.”

Junho chuckles, shrugging dismissively. He knows what Nichkhun really means is _you look good for having just been knocked out for two weeks_. Coming from a guy who looks like Nichkhun, though, Junho can’t help feel just a little bit flattered. He lifts surprised brows as he takes in Nichkhun’s face. He certainly looks older, but not by much. He’s still ridiculously handsome, just more polished. His eyes drop down to Nichkhun's hand. A silver wedding band glimmers on one finger. 

“So, you’re a lawyer, huh?” Junho grins down at him, impressed. He remembers now— Taecyeon and Nichkhun shared a flat not far from the restaurant Junho waited tables at. He shudders at the memory of that job, the smell of fried chicken and beer lingering in his clothes, in his hair. He’d be up all night studying after his shifts, then after class he was back at it, serving and bussing tables on stolen naps and energy drinks.

He’d only been there once, Taecyeon’s place, when the campus library had closed. The sight of Nichkhun’s face stirs something around in his mind and prods, and Nichkhun and the rest of his immediate surroundings slip out of focus to become a cold, snowy night lit by streetlamps, a detached minute of a conversation—

_“My apartment is just up the block,” Taecyeon repeats himself, his feet squishing through the slush behind him. Junho rolls his eyes, irritated because this guy is still fucking following him, even as he’s heading to the train station. He whirls around to face Taecyeon, his lip curling up in aggravation._

_Taecyeon halts just as suddenly as Junho does, white specks of snow peppering his black, messy ponytail under the glow of streetlights. Snow melts upon striking his glasses so tiny droplets of water almost obscure his eyes. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his big yellow wind-breaker. “I’ve got all my old books in my room,” he reasons. “No need to take the train all the way home.”_

_Junho squints at him, angry that this is even happening, angry that he’s standing outside in the cold at 10 pm with Professor Park’s perfect protegé._ What do you care? _he wants to shout at him, but he just snorts and jerks up the zipper on his coat, barring out the cold that chills his neck and chest through his shirt._

_He left his backpack at home and the subway wouldn’t come for another forty-five minutes. He sends Taecyeon a bitter look— of course he held on to all his textbooks. He didn’t have to sell them at the end of every semester for all the spare change he could get._

_He’s freezing. He can barely feel the tips of his fingers and his feet are growing numb in socks that have somehow gotten wet through his boots. But he knows: if he goes home, the first thing he’ll do is crawl under his blankets and sleep. Forever._

_“Whatever,” Junho agrees, tugging his hood over his head as slats of icy rain and sleet hit his face. He just needs to pass this test tomorrow. Taecyeon’s face relaxes, satisfied, and he nods and turns to lead Junho in the opposite direction of the train station. Junho rolls his eyes behind his back, but he follows him up the sidewalk._

Taecyeon re-enters the living room, and Junho loses whatever it was he was saying, or whatever Nichkhun was saying when he sees Taecyeon’s face, different from that little snapshot that attached itself to the forefront of his mind with no warning. He suddenly feels it all again, the irritation with Taecyeon’s presence, the desperation to pass that test, how tired he was from working a double shift… 

But his eyes detect Taecyeon in fragmented, stop-motion movements as he sets down a glass of water for Nichkhun, and it’s with a jolt that Junho realizes Taecyeon is standing in front of him. There’s a glass in his face, water. Junho peers up at Taecyeon’s face, instantly struck with a realization:

This is the guy standing with him in the snow five years ago. And he married him.

His hand closes around the bottom of the glass, and Taecyeon purses his lips, a knit in his brow voicing the agitation he feels for whatever reason Nichkhun has come to visit, and Junho wonders. That night, under those streetlights, did Taecyeon love him then? Did he like him? Was that why he cared so much?

“So Junho,” Nichkhun’s voice bounces to him as if he’s at the bottom of a well, and Junho struggles to regain his bearings, to root himself back in the present. He clears his throat and rises to sit on the sofa with Nichkhun, rubbing the back of his palm across his forehead. 

He stares into his glass as Nichkhun continues. “My father-in-law’s friend owns the firm handling the prosecution for the people who own the store where you were attacked,” Junho’s eyes flick up to his and Nichkhun winces. _Alright, then_ , Junho thinks. Nichkhun now has his full attention. The floorboards creak behind Junho, and he turns his face slightly to see Taecyeon’s outline in his periphery.

He swallows uncomfortably. “Okay,” he says, because he’s not sure what else would be appropriate. Nichkhun takes a sip of his water and leans forward, sagely and solemnly, to hold Junho’s gaze. 

“The trial is coming up, and they would like you to testify. You were subpoenaed, but I don’t think you got your mail.” He casts a blatantly reproachful glance up in Taecyeon’s direction, and Junho hears Taecyeon sigh behind him. 

He turns to meet Taecyeon’s eyes. Taecyeon is standing near the sofa, white streaks of flour still in his hair and on his shirt, his face darkened by a guilty scowl.

“Let me guess,” Junho sneers at him. “You wanted to tell me.” He narrows his eyes at Taecyeon, echoing Taecyeon’s words from earlier in the car when he found out his psychiatrist was his best friend. Taecyeon opens his mouth, but Junho turns back to face Nichkhun before Taecyeon can defend himself. 

“I would do it,” Junho puts his water on the coffee table and settles more comfortably on the sofa, “but I don’t remember any of it.” He doesn’t understand Nichkhun’s logic. Or these attorneys, or the judge, or whoever the hell it was who wanted him to be a part of this.

He cringes internally. It was easy to forget the whole thing happened while he couldn’t remember it. He hadn’t even thought about the need for criminal charges, or the people who owned the store, or the others involved. His therapy and his treatment had focused solely on one thing: himself. 

“I know,” Nichkhun scoots towards the edge of his seat, steepling his fingertips and wetting his lips. “We all understand that, and that’s exactly why everyone needs to hear what you have to say. The cross-examination will just be a few questions. We can rehearse those. You just have to be as honest as you can about what’s been going on since the attack.”

“Khun,” Taecyeon interrupts, but Nichkhun is ready, and his eyes are sour and vexed and Junho doesn’t remember ever seeing him like this.

“Let him decide, Taec.” Nichkhun snaps, “You can’t protect him from everything. He’s awake now. He can speak for himself.” They share a long, tense stare that Junho only witnesses from Nichkhun’s end, until he hears Taecyeon exhale behind him and mutter a soft, _whatever_. Nichkhun peers back at Junho, appeased for the moment.

He watches Junho intently for a few seconds, and he looks so sincere and sounds so _just_ Junho shrugs. 

“Sure,” he throws his hands up, “why not?”

Nichkhun’s face breaks into a smile, and he reaches forward for both of Junho’s hands, squeezing them and bowing his head in appreciation. 

“Thank you,” he says, and then he lifts his gaze. “This is as much for you as it is for everyone else. As your friend, I want to give you closure. I wouldn’t ask this much of you if I didn’t care.” His eyes stray from Junho’s again to the area above his head where Junho knows Taecyeon is. “About both of you,” Nichkhun adds, a sad smile on his mouth. 

Taecyeon snorts, and Junho turns around to see him shaking his head, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Now, there’s something else I need to ask you.” Nichkhun doesn’t let go of Junho’s hands, but his eyes crinkle into a cautious wince. “Have you read any papers recently?” Junho shakes his head. “How about online? Local news?” Junho shakes his head no, again, feeling like he’s taking some really difficult, trick-question test. 

Nichkhun chews his lip for a second, and sends another irritated scowl Taecyeon’s way. “So you’re kind of famous,” he states. Junho gapes, blinking quickly in confusion. 

“Everyone knows about you, except they don’t know that it’s _you_. Taec saw to that. His parents own or know the people who own every major media outlet in the city, so they’ve kept your identity under wraps. Ever wondered why you barely leave the apartment?”

He jerks a finger over Junho’s head where Taecyeon is obviously still hovering. Junho’s jaw drops a few more centimeters wide, and he spins to glare at Taecyeon again. Taecyeon’s arms are still crossed, every muscle in his jaw clenched. His guilty eyes dart about the room evasively.

“ _Are you fucking kidding me?_ ” Junho seethes at him, incensed. Taecyeon just stands there, resolute. “You’re such a brat!” Junho shouts, opening his mouth to say more when Nichkhun’s hands urge him to turn back to face him. 

“Now, now, now,” Nichkhun practically coos at him, and Junho calms a bit. “In Taec’s defense, he never uses his family’s influence for anything. But he used it for you.” He shrugs and sends Junho a winning smile. “That’s sweet, right?”

Junho gawks at Nichkhun, now. These two were unbelieveable. The tiny ball of rage loosens in Junho’s chest, however, and his breathing slows. Maybe it is a little sweet. He sighs, and Nichkhun gives him a comforting pat on the back on his palm. 

“But the point is, if you testify, your identity will have to come out. Are you okay with that?”

Junho hesitates. 

“You saved people’s lives, Junho. They want to know who you are. They want to know your name.”

Junho clenches his teeth. He can see, Nichkhun does this a lot and he gets his way. No wonder he’s a lawyer. He moves his head in a firm nod, and Nichkhun’s face brightens once again. 

“ _Ha_ ,” he belts out, “screw you, Taec.” Junho can’t withhold his laugh at Nichkhun’s immature outburst. Nichkhun smiles charmingly at Junho. “Thanks,” he says, and Junho just shrugs. He doesn’t know what he just signed himself up for. But for some reason, he wants to help these people. And he does want closure, even if he didn’t know he did before Nichkhun said it.

Nichkhun gives Junho’s hands one more heartfelt squeeze before he’s withdrawing and standing. His long legs move past the coffee table, and Junho turns to watch him approach a glowering, pizza dough-covered Taecyeon. Junho smirks darkly. He looks like the bad kid in time-out, and he’s so happy Nichkhun is around.

“Sorry, Taec.” Nichkhun winces, and Taecyeon grumbles for a second before lifting his eyes to meet Nichkhun’s. 

“Whatever,” he says, unfolding his arms. “You heading out?”

Nichkhun nods, and Taecyeon crosses the foot or so to engulf Nichkhun in a warm hug. 

“I had to ask him, man. I respect you, you know that?” Nichkhun is muttering, patting Taecyeon’s cheek a little too hard. Taecyeon nods, and he gives Nichkhun a rap on the shoulder. Junho just sits watching them. 

“You guys are adorable,” he grins, and Nichkhun peers back at him and chuckles. 

“Good to see you, buddy,” he leans over and his arms come to wrap themselves around Junho, and Junho can’t help but smile— he loves hugs, these days. Taecyeon’s lips fold into a little grin of his own as he meets Junho’s eyes over Nichkhun’s shoulder. Junho narrows his eyes at Taecyeon as Nichkhun draws up to his full height, not breaking their eye contact. 

“I owe you one, Nichkhun. Now I know _he_ —” he points an accusing finger at Taecyeon, “— is a control freak.” Nichkhun lets out a brief, high-pitched laugh, and Taecyeon’s cheeks turn a little pink. 

“You two suck,” Taecyeon mutters, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. He turns to Nichkhun. “Get out of my house,” he orders him, and Nichkhun chuckles. He turns to Junho with an almost regal tip of his head.

“Junho, I’ll be in touch.”

Junho nods, and with a wave, Nichkhun follows after Taecyeon towards the door. Taecyeon comes back a second later, adjusting his glasses on his nose. When he shuts the door behind himself and locks it, he has the nerve to look bashful. Junho wrinkles his nose at him as he stands, and Taecyeon pads towards him like a kicked puppy. 

“I was just—”

“Yeah, shut up,” Junho huffs, shoving at one of Taecyeon’s shoulders, ushering him towards the kitchen. Taecyeon _squeals_ when he loses his footing and trips across the threshold. Junho throws his head back to laugh, but he makes sure his eyes are icy when he pushes Taecyeon again, towards the stove. 

“Finish making my dinner.” 

“—I only did it because I lo—” Taecyeon trips again, cutting off mid-sentence. His eyes are pleading as he turns the stove back on and adjusts the handle of the pot holding the sauce so neither of them can knock it over. Junho squints at him, but there is no heat in it. The sorrow and uncertainty on Taecyeon’s face make his chest ache, and he has to look away.

He peers instead at the mess they made on the kitchen floor.

“Are you mad at me?” Taecyeon asks, stepping close to him. Junho considers him for a moment, worrying his lip and turning to lean both hands on the counter. 

“I don’t know,” he thinks out loud. “You’re a liar. How am I supposed to believe anything you tell me now?”

Taecyeon hisses out a sharp sigh. “I never lied,” he comes to stand next to Junho, inclining his head, earnestly vying for some eye contact. Junho lifts his gaze to his, reluctantly. 

“You withhold information,” he re-words his accusation, and Taecyeon’s eyes move about the room thoughtfully. He shrugs, and he doesn’t move to deny it. Junho sighs. There could be any number of things Taecyeon hasn't told him yet, horrible things. Good things. He wants to know everything. He wants to know more about Taecyeon's family, what kind of people they are that they have the kind of power Taecyeon can use to keep his husband out of the public eye, that they care enough about Taecyeon to let him, regardless of the fact their son married a man. His own mother, his own family no longer want him.

“But like Nichkhun said,” his tongue flicks out to moisten his lips, his eyes intent on Junho’s face, unwavering. “Like _I_ was saying. I was just trying to protect you. I’d never hurt you, Junho.” One of his hands rises towards Junho’s body but it stops short, and Taecyeon’s lips purse, regretful. Junho sighs in mild exasperation. 

“You can touch me,” he suddenly spews, and Taecyeon stiffens through his shoulders and his chest, his frown deepens. They nearly kissed, earlier, before Nichkhun arrived. Junho felt it, and he knows Taecyeon felt it, too. He knows Taecyeon wants him, that Taecyeon hasn't stopped wanting him. And what Junho wants— it's becoming clearer and clearer every day. Junho crosses his arms over his chest, dropping his eyes and staring at the stove, embarrassed, slowly realizing what he’s said out loud. “I mean— I touch you,” he argues, weakly, pointlessly. Taecyeon sniffs. 

“You spanked me,” he states with a matter-of-fact lift of his eyebrows. Junho can’t hold back his smirk. He did. And he liked it. But he can’t bring himself to speak unless he says precisely that. He hears the air shift under another brief laugh from Taecyeon’s chest. 

Taecyeon inches closer, and where Junho’s eyes are pinned, the only thing in his sight are the buttons of Taecyeon’s mint green shirt, brushing against Junho’s forearm braced across his own stomach. Taecyeon’s hands rise again, more sure this time, and Junho’s lips come apart for a sharp intake of breath when a tender, deliberate touch lights just at both of his elbows. 

Taecyeon’s sigh is long and audible, and Junho lifts his eyes to meet Taecyeon’s when Taecyeon's palms adhere to his arms more firmly, his thumbs digging into the insides of Junho's elbows. Taecyeon's eyes are dark, warm, and tentative, and Junho feels a shiver race along every vertebrae holding him upright. And then he's back on that sidewalk on that night, on the sidewalk and under that damn snow, looking at this same face that’s in front of him now, and it occurs to him that the universe has a funny way of working things out.

A slow smile spreads on Taecyeon’s lips, and his hands seem to pulse gently around Junho’s arms. “What?” He asks softly, and Junho realizes he must be smiling, too. He shakes his head. 

“Nothing,” he sighs, biting his lip. The words are on the tip of his tongue, and he only hesitates for a fraction of a second before something in his mind whispers to him that it’s okay, that Taecyeon is safe. 

He breathes in deeply, and tries to remain still as Taecyeon’s hands move, questioningly up the length of his triceps before traveling back down again. Junho’s own hands clamp around Taecyeon’s wrists, and he feels Taecyeon’s pulse, hammering against his palms. He smiles. 

“I’m just happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, pizza! You're not getting made tonight. XD


	15. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taecyeon has a bit of separation anxiety.

_15 August. 7:15._

Taecyeon stares at the clock on his phone and sits on the guest room bed, just breathing. He scrapes a hand over his eyes and fingers through his hair, and when he looks back it’s 7:20. Nichkhun swung by ten minutes ago to pick Junho up and take him to the law firm for a meeting with the prosecution team. It took every cell in Taecyeon’s body to keep his mouth shut as Junho walked out of the door, dressed the most formally Taecyeon had seen him in a while, wearing a suit and tie. 

He looked nice. 

Taecyeon wanted to go with him— he planned to go with him. He had the day off simply from asking last year, and it worked out that the meeting was scheduled for today. But Nichkhun had glared at him and shaken his head at him from over Junho’s shoulder, and Junho just gave Taecyeon the same pitiful look he give his cats and said, “It’s just a few hours,” before he walked through the door. 

Taecyeon grits his teeth. The last time Junho walked out of the apartment without him was eerily similar.

_“Where are you going?” Taecyeon asks from the sofa, watching as Junho zips up his coat and steps into a pair of leather boots. It’s been snowing nonstop for days._

_Junho sighs, fumbling about in his pocket until Taecyeon hears the jingle of car keys. “I need to get some gas,” he says, going for the door. He smiles back at Taecyeon over one shoulder just before he steps out. “I’ll be right back.”_

He wasn’t _right back_. 

Taecyeon shakes his head, an uncomfortable fluttering in his chest that feels like dread. Like months-old fear relived. Useless should-have-dones and should-have-saids slither through his mind so quickly and so incoherently he can’t make sense of it anymore and it makes his head ache.

He has to get out of the apartment. He changes into sweats and sneakers and drives to the gym. He runs a few miles on the treadmill until he can't breathe and lifts weights until he can’t anymore, until his muscles sigh with fatigue and his stomach can’t hold any more water. 

He checks his phone every ten minutes— Junho hasn’t called or texted. He clenches his jaw and tells himself not to panic, and sets his mind to find a place to eat. He orders his food to go and parks his car at the neighborhood park, sitting on a bench by the water and shoveling a burger and fries into his mouth as the ducks quack and swim by. 

He wakes his phone with greasy, smeary fingers, and still, radio silence. He takes a few deep breaths before he decides to call. It goes straight to voicemail. His heart starts to thud in his chest and he wills his hands not to shake as he dials Nichkhun. 

“Hey, Taec.”

“Khun,” Taecyeon almost gasps. He hears the frantic quality in his own voice and he swallows and casts a look around the park. “Are you with Junho?” He asks, more calmly. 

“Uh, yeah sorta. I'm having lunch, but he’s in with the store owners’ attorney. I can’t be in there while they discuss case matters.”

Taecyeon exhales in relief. “Of course. Right.” He ruffles a hand through his hair, still a little damp from the gym. He should have showered, but he wasn’t thinking straight. “When will he be out of there?”

“Should be a few more hours. Gosh, you’re missing him bad,” Nichkhun chuckles, and Taecyeon thinks he hears the crinkling of paper or plastic on the other end. “Sorry,” Nichkhun says around a bite. “I shouldn’t joke. I know what today is.”

Taecyeon sighs, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs. “Yeah,” is all he can respond. He inhales deeply, his pulse a bit slower and brain a little less crazy now he knows Junho is alright. “Ok. Thanks, Khun.”

“You got it, man. I’ll have him back to you in the evening.”

When Taecyeon hangs up, he glances at his screen for the time. _15 August. 1:24 P.M._ He closes his eyes and remains on the bench, listening to the chimes of children laughing and the steady beat of feet carrying joggers past him. He’s not sure how long he sits there, only that when he gets up, the rest of his fries are cold. He throws his trash away and finds his car. 

He ends up at the grocery store and pushes around an empty cart for nearly half an hour until he realizes that it is, in fact, empty, and that employees are starting to send him suspicious looks. He sighs and chooses random things he knows Junho likes, things that he likes, and a few things Junho certainly doesn’t like. 

“...Sir?”

Taecyeon snaps out of it when he hears the cashier’s voice at the checkout. Her face swims into focus, light blonde ponytail and a smile that reaches her eyes. She regards him with a bit of concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he says, chuckling. He realizes he hasn’t put any of his items on the belt, and quickly grasps for them and sets them down. The cashier comes from around the stand with a polite grin and helps him. “Thank you,” he mutters, slightly embarrassed. When he pushes his cart away and outside to load his bagged groceries into the trunk, he shakes his head at himself in irritation. 

He thought he was past this phase, his pity party. He _was_ past it— after that horrible fight when Junho punched him. They had made so much progress. 

_“You can touch me.”_

Taecyeon can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth at the memory of those words, of Junho’s face when he said them, of the feel of Junho’s arms beneath his hands. It was a couple of weeks ago, and Junho hasn’t said or done anything to imply the words no longer held. 

All Taecyeon wanted, really, was for Junho to like him, rather than tolerate him. He wanted Junho to trust him again, and to look at him as something other than the source for his next meal or the person to call when he forgot the password to the wifi. 

But he got something entirely different. He got Junho, and that scared the shit out of him just like it did the first time. 

When he gets home, it’s almost three in the afternoon. He restocks the pantry and the fridge and finally steps into the shower. The hot water feels good on his skin, the steam does wonders for his mind, which feels like it will leak out of his skull any minute. Maybe it’s because of what day it is.

At 5:30, Taecyeon hears the locks click. He throws his iPad down and jogs to the door to pull it open just as the knob turns and— Taecyeon lets out a choked sigh of relief— Junho is standing there, his mouth open in surprise. 

“Are you a dog?” Junho asks in a dry voice, cackling and turning before Taecyeon has the opportunity to answer. “Look who I found.”

Minjun steps out from behind Junho with a bit of a leap. “Taec!” He exclaims, and Taecyeon’s laugh comes easily, then. Junho and Minjun come inside, and Taecyeon has an armful of Minjun. His arms squeeze around Taecyeon tightly, and his hair tickles Taecyeon’s face. Taecyeon settles into the embrace with a sigh, and some of the tension still cramping his muscles dissipates. He catches Junho watching them over Minjun's shoulder, a strange, almost fond smile curving his mouth.

“Ah,” Minjun leans in with a sharp sniff before he withdraws completely, “You smell good.”

“Thanks,” Taecyeon mutters, mildly entertained. He’s glad he showered, and that he used soap. Minjun snickers and Taecyeon sees the hand but his reflexes aren’t fast enough to get away— “Ow!” Two of Minjun’s fingers clamp around a chunk of his cheek and pinch. 

“Aw, he’s so cute,” Minjun coos, and finally lets go only to give him a few smacks in the same spot. “I haven’t been over in forever,” he exhales as he moves past Taecyeon. Taecyeon clutches his stinging face with a whimper as Junho smirks at him and pushes the door shut. 

“We brought Chinese,” he says, and pushes two plastic bags towards Taecyeon’s hands, and Taecyeon has no choice but to take them. His eyes flick up from the food to Junho’s eyes, which dance with amusement. Taecyeon lowers the bags to his sides and opens his mouth to ask why it’s Minjun bringing him home and not Nichkhun like they planned, but Junho places a hand on his elbow to spin him around to face the living room. 

Taecyeon takes the hint and follows the path he’s sure Minjun has taken, to the kitchen, Junho’s hand a warm pressure through his sweatshirt. Minjun is holding a stack of plates when they join him. Junho snorts.

“Make yourself at home,” he shoots a wry grin in Minjun’s direction, and Minjun just answers him with a half-hearted roll of his eyes. 

“You should be doing this, not me.”

Taecyeon chuckles to himself as he takes the cartons out of the bags and lays them down on the island serving as their dinner table. He’s content to just listen to the two of them talk to each other, like before. Junho shrugs out of his suit jacket and makes for the hallway. 

“Be right back,” his voice trickles behind him, and Taecyeon absently watches his back disappear past the walls. Minjun slides next to him, cheeky smile in place. 

“How’s Wooyoung?” Taecyeon skilfully evades whatever attack Minjun has in store, lifting the lid of one of the take out boxes. Fried noodles. Minjun gasps and hits him on the shoulder, thrown completely off-kilter. Taecyeon flinches, but laughter tumbles, surely and freely from his chest. “Ow,” he says belatedly. Minjun peers up at him with a pout. 

“He’s fine,” he says reluctantly, crossing his arms over his chest for a few seconds before uncrossing them. He reaches for one of the food boxes and grabs a piece of meat from the top, blinking quickly. Taecyeon snorts, but he can tell just from the rosy color blooming on his cheeks: Minjun is happy. 

“You should have brought him,” Taecyeon mentions, and Minjun’s eyes return to his with mild horror in them. 

“Brought who?”

They both turn their heads in unison at the sound of Junho’s voice. He changed to a t-shirt and lounge pants, and he moves around the island and leans on his elbows in front of them, expectant. Taecyeon grins, feeling mischievous. 

“Minjun’s boyfriend,” he chirps, and Minjun slaps his shoulder harder this time. Junho’s eyebrows perk up. 

“Is that the guy in the picture?”

“Picture?” Minjun squeaks nervously, and Taecyeon experiences a cloudy moment of confusion before he realizes what Junho’s talking about. 

“No, that was Chang—” he cuts himself off abruptly, remembering they never mentioned his name anymore. “—that was someone else,” he mumbles, cringing guiltily when Minjun’s posture sags just a bit next to him. Minjun waves a dismissive hand.

“It’s ok,” he says with a light chuckle. Taecyeon steps away from the island for a few serving utensils and bottled water for them all as Junho and Minjun lower themselves onto stools. “That was my ex,” Minjun admits with a slight wince.

“Oh,” Junho furrows his eyebrows, pushing his lips out in mild disappointment. “Who’s the new guy?” Taecyeon smiles silently to himself— Junho’s tone is relaxed and familiar, easy-going, despite the fact they are talking about a romantic relationship between two guys. Junho and Minjun must have made a lot of progress, too. He walks back around to the side with Minjun just as Minjun drops his gaze shyly and starts doling out noodles to everyone’s plate.

“His name is Wooyoung,” Minjun tells Junho without looking up, though the corners of his mouth do lift significantly higher around the syllables of Wooyoung’s name. Taecyeon reclaims his seat next to Minjun, breaking his chopsticks and popping a dumpling into his mouth. 

Junho takes a few pieces of chicken, his eyes wandering back and forth between the container and Minjun’s face. One side of his mouth tips upwards. 

“Is he hot?”

Minjun suddenly gasps and coughs, and Taecyeon drops the clump of noodles on the way into his mouth. Minjun covers his own mouth, and Junho’s eyes disappear in a wide, smug grin. Taecyeon’s shock scatters, and he watches Junho, a little proud. He snickers and turns away to pat Minjun gingerly on the back. 

“I take that as a yes,” Taecyeon comments conspiratorially, and Minjun glares at him before shooting narrowed eyes across the table to Junho, who lifts his hands innocently. He hasn’t met or even seen pictures of Wooyoung, and he’s sure Minjun wants to keep it that way for as long as he can. Minjun recovers with a rattling breath, reaching for his water. 

“You awful kids deserve each other,” he whines, a little hoarse, and Taecyeon smiles, meeting Junho’s eyes. He means to be sly, but he stops short. Junho holds his gaze with a slight tilt to his mouth and a warm, unwavering stare that possibly lasts a few seconds but feels like an eternity. And an eternity is exactly what Taecyeon wants with him. It’s gone when Junho averts his eyes as Minjun shuffles at his side, and Taecyeon rubs a hand down the side of his face, refocusing. 

“Oh, there’s champagne,” Minjun announces, changing the subject. Taecyeon lifts his gaze to see him standing at the wine fridge, turning the green frosted bottle over in his hands. When he winces, Taecyeon realizes he forgot he even put it there. It was a gift. Junho turns in his stool, leaning his weight on one forearm, intrigued. 

“Let’s open it,” Taecyeon decides, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing three wine glasses. Minjun’s eyebrows furrow at him apologetically, and he shakes his head subtly. He doesn't want to attract any unnecessary attention to it. “You can have a little,” he throws over his shoulder and catches Junho’s eye. Junho’s face lights up. His neurologist cleared him for light drinking last week, so it wouldn't hurt.

“What are we celebrating?” Junho asks excitedly, watching as Minjun tears off the foil and bares the cork beneath. Minjun cringes and hands the bottle to Taecyeon.

“Don’t point it at me!” He yells, running around to the other side of the kitchen. He ducks behind the island so only the fluffy hair on top of his head and his eyes are visible. Taecyeon snickers and presses his thumb against the cork until it dislodges and shoots off into a corner with a loud _pop_. Junho whoops and springs out of his seat with a glass to catch the foamy champagne. He passes it off to Minjun, who smiles gratefully and returns to their side, before he cocks his head and loops a hand around Junho’s bicep. 

“Let’s celebrate you,” Minjun says softly, dropping his head onto Junho’s shoulder. Junho sniffs, taking the glass Taecyeon offers him. He has about half the amount of champagne in Minjun's glass. 

“Me?” He parrots, looking down at his skimpy drink a bit sullenly, but without comment. Taecyeon licks his lips and sets the bottle aside once he’s served some for himself. He drops down onto the stool Junho abandoned, facing the two of them. Minjun nods, and lifts his head to meet Junho’s eyes. 

“You,” he answers meaningfully, and Taecyeon’s chest grows tight. He drops his own eyes to the floor and hears Junho laugh bitterly. 

“Sure, why not,” his voice is as soft as Minjun’s, and Taecyeon looks up again just as they clink their glasses together. He gives a lopsided smile and outstretches his own against theirs, and he turns his face to peer at the far wall as he tips his head back to drink his champagne in one gulp.

*

“ _No!_ No, Rose!” A very drunk, very distraught Minjun screams at the TV, even as Junho drags him up from the couch. “You weren’t supposed to let go!” He turns to Junho, and Taecyeon watches them, biting his lip to contain his laughter. Minjun’s arm is draped over Junho’s shoulder while Junho supports him by the waist, and they continue slowly towards the bedrooms. “Why did she let go, Junho? Why?”

“It’s a cruel world,” Junho’s voice distantly replies, and Taecyeon snickers to himself. He turns the dvd player off and switches to cable, lowering the volume so he doesn’t disturb them. He settles back onto the sofa. He can hear bustling about and the cadence of their voices, and he listens until it fades out and the bedroom door closes. 

“You _had_ to pick Titanic.”

Taecyeon jumps, and he turns in the dark to see Junho moving around behind the couch. The bright lights from the TV play over the blue vertical stripes in his pajama pants and the ribbed texture of his white tank top as he comes to circle past the coffee table. Taecyeon watches him mutely, his heart starting to pound in his chest when Junho drops into the space right next to him with a nonchalant sigh. 

His bare arm brushes against the sleeve of Taecyeon’s sweatshirt, and when he lifts his legs onto the wide leather cushion beneath them and folds his knees, one of them grazes against Taecyeon’s thigh, and Taecyeon's socked feet twitch where he's planted them on the floor. Junho stares at the TV for five very bored, very disinterested seconds before he tugs the remote from Taecyeon’s hand and kills the audio.

He angles his body so he’s facing Taecyeon, and he lifts an arm over the back of the couch and rests his head in his palm, eyes on Taecyeon’s face. Definitely not bored, definitely not disinterested. Taecyeon swallows. 

“So, what did you do today? All by yourself.” Junho asks, his voice a low murmur a few shades above a whisper. Taecyeon blinks, nervous. There’s barely any room between them— he wonders if Junho knows or if he should move. 

“I went to the gym,” he says, more easily than he thought he could. He relaxes and smiles, then, and Junho quirks a curious eyebrow at him. Suddenly all of Taecyeon's questions from earlier resurge, and he shifts his body unconsciously in Junho's direction. “How did it go with the attorney?”

Junho shrugs, a smooth shift of one mostly bare shoulder. His other hand tracks up the length of one of his own thighs, picking at lints Taecyeon cannot see, even if he were able to tear his eyes away from Junho’s face. “Fine, I guess.”

Taecyeon opens his mouth to ask more, but Junho interrupts, dropping his chin and peering up at Taecyeon through eyelids that are half-mast. “You’re not going to sleep?”

A soft chuckle leaves Taecyeon’s lungs and he shakes his head, tapping a finger against the armrest at one side of him. He can’t sleep in there tonight, that guest room. But he doesn’t say it. Junho takes a deep inhale and casts a noncommittal glance towards the TV again. Taecyeon takes the moment to trace his eyes over the line of his jaw, the slope of his neck, the slight part of his lips. 

His hands close into fists at his sides, and he looks at the TV, too, only to see commercials rolling. 

“I’m afraid Minjun might throw up on me in his sleep,” Junho mumbles, turning back, as if Taecyeon needs any explanation for his being here.

“You can have the bed in the guest room,” he offers, even though he doesn’t want this to end yet. “I was gonna sleep out here anyway,” he confesses, wishing he had bitten his tongue once the words tumble out. Junho’s cheeks twitch in the dark with an arresting smile, and he keeps his eyes on Taecyeon’s face, silent. Taecyeon waits, but Junho only leans forward in the darkness, reaching for something on the floor that Taecyeon soon realizes is the throw blanket the three of them had shared during the movie.

“I’ll sleep out here,” Junho declares with a sigh, shaking the blanket out and rising onto his knees. Taecyeon shakes his head and begins to protest, but Junho cuts him off again with narrowed eyes. “I meant _with_ you, stupid.”

Taecyeon feels his own jaw drop open, and he’s surprised he has the sense to shut it. Junho snorts and then his hands are shoving at Taecyeon’s shoulders and chest until Taecyeon finds himself on his back, rigid as a stone. Junho throws the blanket up by the corners, and it balloons in the air above them and lands, feather soft as Junho lowers himself mostly on top of him. 

Taecyeon bites his own lip as Junho moves around, brushing and knocking his limbs against him until he’s settled, his lower half in the nook between Taecyeon’s body and the inside of the sofa, his chest against Taecyeon’s. The top of his head tickles just beneath Taecyeon’s chin, and Taecyeon hesitates before he lifts a shaky arm around Junho’s back, his face and neck burning, flushed. This is a first.

Junho makes a sound that vibrates through both of their chests, and Taecyeon’s arm reflexively tightens, his palm adheres to Junho’s side and clutches him firmly. He stares at the ceiling, biting down hard on his bottom lip, fighting to keep himself from panting. 

“Is this how you pictured it?”

Taecyeon breathes a sharp inhale when Junho breaks the silence again. “Pictured what?” He summons the self-control to ask, and Junho remains quiet, his ribcage an even rise and fall under Taecyeon's touch. But Taecyeon knows he’s not asleep. He feels Junho’s leg shift against his, the hand resting on his chest moves upward by an inch or so. 

“Our first anniversary.”

It hurts, said out loud, finally, when the day is nearly over. The words send a wave of something unpleasant, like pain and grief and sorrow through his chest that seizes his voice and cripples it within the confines of his throat. Junho’s hair tickles at the underside of his jaw, and his weight against Taecyeon lessens before Junho’s face assumes the space where Taecyeon's eyes had become acquainted with the ceiling. 

Junho’s eyes flicker between his, focused, and Taecyeon realizes he can hear him breathing, and he can feel the warmth, the heaviness, and realness of his body against his own. He furrows his eyebrows and lifts a hand until Junho’s hair, cool and silky, is wound about his fingers. Junho sighs, and his eyelids flutter, little wings before they slide shut. That is the last thing Taecyeon sees before he lets his senses other than sight take over. His face burns with the heat of Junho's descending closer and closer, tiny increments the hand in Junho's hair follows obsessively. 

Junho’s lips are soft when they brush against Taecyeon’s own, just a whisper of contact before Taecyeon angles his head and Junho’s lips fall, firmly onto his. His hand squeezes at the strands of Junho’s hair that it grasps, and he sighs when Junho’s palm cradles his cheek, fingertips lightly caressing at his temple. One of them moans, and their mouths open to one another, his tongue sweeps against Junho’s and retreats.

Taecyeon’s hand grips tightly at Junho’s back, kneading the firm muscle and flesh he finds while his other hand loosens around Junho's hair and rakes his fingers through it instead. Junho inhales slowly, his lips still parted above his, hot, hurried breaths against Taecyeon's mouth. Taecyeon lifts his head and swipes his tongue more confidently against Junho's bottom lip, and Junho's spine shivers under his hand, a sensual rumble between shoulder blades that tense and emerge against Taecyeon's palm.

Taecyeon has to see him. He opens his eyes and arousal pools low in his belly, more surely now, at the sight— Junho’s skin looks feverish even in the dark, his full bottom lip is shiny and damp just before he sucks it between his teeth and releases a shaky sigh. 

Taecyeon leans his face into Junho’s hand, into the thumb caressing his cheekbone. His own hand idly strokes at Junho's hair, the other massages his back. Junho makes a noise in his throat, his eyes still shut, and he lowers his head back down onto Taecyeon’s chest while his own chest heaves more adamantly than it had moments ago, when they were still. His hand rubs down the side of Taecyeon’s face, fingers scraping Taecyeon's jaw and his throat until it rests where it was before, where its clutch is secure and impregnable, over Taecyeon’s beating heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY!


	16. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taecyeon catches a break.

Taecyeon wakes up alone. Alone, empty, with a crick in his neck. He shoots upright with a sharp intake of breath, his vision blurry and his eyes burning and— “Fuck,” he curses, because he slept in his contact lenses. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and wetness pools, hot at their corners. He makes a noise and shuffles under the blanket laid over his legs, opening his eyes for a fraction of a second long enough that he sees the white fabric and hurls it from his lap. 

His shin strikes what has to be the coffee table. “Damn it,” it throbs, painfully under his sweatpants and he steps sideways until the square outline is gone. It goes from warm and soft to cool and hard when his feet transition from the rug and hit the smooth hard wood floor, and he lifts his arms to grope for a wall. 

“Oh, you’re alive.”

Junho’s voice sends a flare of warmth rocketing through Taecyeon’s chest and he stops, his hands grasping air and his eyes on fire. He cracks one open, and a murky, shadowy Junho flits in front of him briefly before he has to shut it again.

“You look like you’re possessed,” Junho goes on with an amused lilt to his tone, and finally, Taecyeon extends his hands and he finds soft skin, the satisfying give of muscle in Junho’s forearms when he clutches them. A salty laugh hits Taecyeon’s face, cool and minty. 

“Take me to the bathroom,” Taecyeon mutters, his voice still thick and hoarse from sleep. Junho responds with a snort, and Taecyeon’s fingers flex around him, he teeters a little on his feet. 

“What?” Junho laughs again, not moving. Taecyeon’s hands blindly feel down to his wrists. “You’re old but you’re not _that_ old—”

“I left my contact lenses in last night,” Taecyeon explains, frustrated because he can’t see Junho and his _fucking_ eyes—

“ _Oh_ , why didn’t you just say that before?” Junho’s hand clasps around his own wrist like he’s a kid and, with a yelp he’s yanked down the hallway. When they stop and Junho guides him until his knees bump what has to be the bathroom cabinets and water streams audibly from the sink, he reaches up and pulls his contacts out, his lids fluttering. 

The burn subsides just a tinge without them, and he dives forward to splash cold water into his eyes. 

“You’re not gonna go blind are you?” Junho’s voice asks from next to him, more judging than concerned, but Taecyeon still pauses when he hears it. He didn’t expect him to stay. 

“I’m already blind,” he says, standing upright. His reflection and the white-on-silver surroundings in the bathroom swim into focus. Junho is next to him, hip against the counter and arms crossed over his chest, a delighted smirk on his mouth. Taecyeon peers back at himself in the mirror, feeling stupid. He hasn’t slept in his contacts since middle school. But one day without Junho and a night _with_ him shattered whatever semblance of control he possessed, a stone cast into his tranquil pond. 

And yet he can’t help but smile. 

He takes a towel and wipes at his red-rimmed eyes, peering at Junho over the top of the fabric as he dabs where water clings to his nose and mouth. Junho watches him, his face open and knowing, until the effect of their prolonged eye contact makes itself known, a rosy color along his cheeks.

Taecyeon sets the towel down and moves sideways one step, Junho’s eyes on his, his eyes on Junho, and Taecyeon wants— needs— to touch him again. As soon as he’s close enough Junho straightens and uncrosses his arms.

“Brush your teeth and come help me in the kitchen,” he tosses over his shoulder, smug and beautiful when he brushes past him. 

Taecyeon does as he’s told, even washes his face more thoroughly. He steps into the guest room and puts his contacts in their case, trades his hoodie for an old university t-shirt and his glasses, and makes his way to their bedroom. He opens the door quietly and peeks inside to see Minjun, a lump beneath covers in the dark. He snorts and makes for the kitchen. 

He finds Junho jabbing at buttons on the coffee machine, and jogs the short distance to meet him at the counter.

“I’ll make that. Your coffee tastes like bath water,” he shoots a sweet smile Junho’s way. Junho curls his upper lip at him, and Taecyeon feels a kick land on his butt when he turns his back. He snickers to himself as he re-measures out the fragrant coffee grinds for himself and Minjun. 

“What would Minjun want for breakfast?” Junho asks, opening the fridge and peering inside. Taecyeon turns the coffee pot on and spins to watch Junho, dusting his hands off. 

“I could make French toast,” he suggests, noticing the bag of bread resting on the counter. Junho nods, letting the fridge door fall shut and sweeping his fingers through tousled hair. Taecyeon sighs, and it’s nothing short of dreamy as Junho moves towards him, a slow, sensual drift Taecyeon doesn't think is on purpose but just might be. His eyes are steady on Taecyeon’s, and his white tank clings to every bit of definition in his chest and abdomen. A wave of heat slithers up the side of Taecyeon's neck when Junho stops, close, his hand braced on the counter.

Inquisitive eyebrows knit together. “You know, I tried to wake you up earlier,” he states, his head tilted to one side. Taecyeon’s not surprised. He slept like a baby last night, for the first time in forever. He probably would have stayed that way, if not for his contacts. That kiss, those kisses? His attention starts to waver just at the memory, a spectral caress over his mouth he can still feel, the weight of Junho’s body on his that he craves endlessly. Junho caught him again, withholding information, but he wasn't angry. No, he was the opposite.

And Taecyeon needs to know _why_. Why now? He feels like an idiot, after all these months, trying his damnedest just to be relevant in Junho’s world. Sure, reaching something like what they had always lingered in the recesses of his mind as an unattainable fantasy. But he didn’t imagine it could happen so soon. 

Just like before all this, before they were married, before Junho quit medical school, he never thought he had a chance, and yet— his eyes flick down to Junho’s left hand, to his own— these rings are on their fingers. 

Taecyeon licks his lips, no idea how to bring it up, how to ask _what are we doing?_ He decides to go for the bread and get started on the toast— but Junho’s plans impede his own. 

A hand, warm and intentional, makes itself known just at his hip, and he stares down into the eyes boldly staring up at him. The hand circles around his hip and then stops at the small of his back. A brusque tug brings their bodies almost flush, and all the air catches in his lungs.

Junho’s mouth quirks upwards, his eyes don’t leave Taecyeon’s. They blink, wondering and curious, and his hand slides from the counter and joins the other at the base of Taecyeon’s spine, kneading with gentle fingers. Taecyeon’s lungs slowly recall their function. He starts to breathe and dips his face down, their noses brushing, inhaling and exhaling slowly but heavily as he tentatively follows Junho’s lead. He mirrors Junho’s hands, hugging him around the waist. 

“You’re blushing,” Junho murmurs, his lips so close they could touch if one of them moved just the sliver more of a distance. Taecyeon releases a shaky chuckle. 

“You make me nervous,” he admits, the hairs on the back of his neck rising, every one of his pores contracting and leaving roused, roughened skin in their wake. Junho’s teeth grip his bottom lip to contain the proud grin coaxing his eyes into crescents. Taecyeon lets his eyes rove over the high curve of Junho’s cheekbone, the soft black fan of barely there lashes when Junho drops his face and his whole body vibrates with a brief laugh.

Junho’s gaze lingers somewhere around Taecyeon’s throat, and the hands touching Taecyeon travel up along his flanks, fingers strong, testing. 

“It’s weird that you’re so tall,” Junho observes, conversational, and Taecyeon mentally curses him for being so damn _cool_ all the time. His mouth slopes thoughtfully, assessing eyes returning to meet Taecyeon’s as he continues. “And just huge in general. Nothing like a girl.”

Taecyeon replies with a stiff smile, and Junho’s hands stroke his back, reminiscent of the way Taecyeon touched him last night on the couch, massaging the tense muscles with a tenderness that pushes all the air from Taecyeon’s chest in a long sigh. 

“Relax,” Junho whispers, his breath warm on Taecyeon’s jaw. Taecyeon shuts his eyes and nods, and he gives in to the gravitational pull between them. He rests his forehead against Junho’s and wills the tightness coiled beneath Junho’s hands to recede. He sags against Junho, grips him tighter, and his eyes burn, but not from pain.

“What are you thinking?” Junho’s voice rumbles low between them, and the brewing Columbian roast swirls in the air, thick and chocolatey, airborne caffeine only heightening the buzz that runs through him, a current charged from Junho’s proximity. Taecyeon hums, the tip of his nose grazing the soft skin just beneath Junho’s eye.

“I’m wondering what _you’re_ thinking,” he chuckles quietly at the coincidence. 

“You’re a better kisser than I thought you’d be,” Junho remarks, and he tips his head back to meet Taecyeon’s eyes, a laugh taking shape on his face. 

Taecyeon narrows his eyes, “So you’ve imagined it, then?” He teases, and Junho squeezes his eyes shut, rueful. He drops his face into Taecyeon's neck, but his hands don’t stop their lazy work on Taecyeon’s back, and Taecyeon takes that as a good sign. He turns his own face into Junho's, daring to tickle the pink shell of an ear with his lips.

He pulls his face away and Junho raises his head, looking at him just like he was last night, eyes misted with lust but clear, purposeful. But that look is different now, it means something different in this wash of sunlight that leaves nowhere to hide. Taecyeon lights an open palm on Junho’s bare arm and rubs upwards until it wraps snugly about Junho’s nape. Junho’s shoulder curls up against it in reflex, his breath hitching, and Taecyeon leans down to stoke Junho’s imagination once again. 

He presses his lips to Junho’s and pushes his tongue gently at the seam between Junho’s lips. It tears eagerly for him, gasping him in, and Taecyeon hears his own noise when Junho’s tongue sweeps roughly against his in reply, tasting, exploring. It’s forward and messy and wet but in the back of his mind he knows Junho likes it no other way than this, so he doesn’t hold back— he couldn’t even if he wanted to. 

Junho moans, his fingers clutch around clumps of Taecyeon’s t-shirt and drop down and around and slide up, and Taecyeon sucks in when Junho’s hands ride up his abdomen to his chest, molding to the shape of him. He drags his lips over Junho’s seeking ones, pausing to kiss at the corner of his mouth, accepting every experimental nip and tug of Junho’s teeth and lips and tongue against him. 

Taecyeon’s fingers caress up into Junho’s hair, and he holds his skull, feels the jagged line of that scar against his own skin and anger flares, hot and possessive and violent within him, and his other hand drops from the small of Junho’s back and lifts the curve of one full, firm cheek it finds. Junho gasps and their hips are flush, and Taecyeon breathes a sharp inhale of Junho’s throat at the familiar weight in his palm, the ruching of stretchy briefs beneath thin pajama pants. 

“Oh god.”

Taecyeon realizes he’s hard at the shocked exhale that is Junho’s voice, and he lets go immediately, tearing his hands from every part of Junho’s body they touch. Junho pants, but he holds Taecyeon steady, shaking his head. Guilt and panic start to trickle into Taecyeon’s belly, those sparks of arousal dissipating quickly at what he’s done. 

“I’m sorry—”

“It’s ok,” Junho whispers, breathless. Taecyeon swallows, the butterflies returning to his stomach in a fluttering uproar. Taecyeon takes a step back, coming down, but he doesn’t completely leave Junho’s clutches. He pushes the words to the tip of his tongue before Junho has a chance to speak again. 

“Do you have feelings for me?”

He watches every minute shift in Junho’s expression, his pulse breaking into full sprint. Junho worries his lip but lifts his eyes to Taecyeon’s again, his brows furrowed seriously and his breathing labored. And Taecyeon waits, eager when Junho's lips start to move. 

“Yes,” he answers in a soft but even voice, and a painful smile starts to pull at Taecyeon’s mouth. “But it must be Stockholm Syndrome or something.”

Taecyeon’s face falls. 

Junho laughs out loud in his face when Taecyeon’s arms go limp at his sides. He reaches up to cup Taecyeon’s cheeks. “Oh, you look like you’re about to cry!” He cackles, and Taecyeon just stares, dumbstruck as Junho squeezes his face between his palms. “I was kidding,” he says loudly, his tongue flicking out over the lips Taecyeon just kissed. Taecyeon blinks a few times, his mouth dropping open and closing repeatedly around nothing. 

Junho rolls his eyes. “ _I have feelings for you_. There.” He pouts and Taecyeon can still see the outline of his own cheeks, squished against his glasses. “I wouldn’t be standing here with you if I didn’t,” he finishes begrudgingly, dropping his hands from Taecyeon’s face. 

A stupid smile takes shape on Taecyeon’s mouth. “So are we doing this?”

Junho shrugs, his skin still flushed— Taecyeon imagines he must look the same. He’s exhilarated. He reaches down for Junho’s hand and lifts it to his mouth, pressing his lips to the inside of his wrist, to the cool gold on his finger. Junho’s shoulders quake with a judgmental chuckle. 

“Let’s do it,” he agrees, a determined flare in his eyes. “But _slow_ ,” he asserts, and Taecyeon’s hand squeezes around Junho’s as he nods fervently, “because I’m… I don’t…” He drops off with a sigh, but Taecyeon understands.

“Of course. Slow. Whatever you want.” Junho purses his lips at him, and his posture loosens. Taecyeon leans down again, for a hug, a kiss, he doesn’t know—

“YEAH!”

Minjun runs into the kitchen in a pair of Junho's pajamas, his hair sticking up in several angles and sleep-creases on his face. He grips them both by a wrist and starts to turn them about in circles. Taecyeon staggers along, and Junho laughs, his face a cross between trying to look irritated and the smile prodding at his lips.

“ _Taecyeon and Junho are back together!_ ” Minjun sings loudly, giggling and bouncing about. Taecyeon rolls his eyes and peers across at Junho, who reluctantly meets his gaze, his lips drawing closed but all the mirth, the trepidation, the excitement Taecyeon feels reflects back at him from Junho’s eyes and it dawns on him, like icy water blasting his face.

He has a second chance. And _yes_ , the answer eluding him last night in the dark on the couch finally presents itself, ringing and dazzling and inescapable. Junho's hand is warm, snug and fleshy around his own. Taecyeon can turn and see him smile. He can hear him breathe, smell the shampoo they share in his hair and their soap on his skin.

This is _exactly_ how he pictured it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love fluff, I love fluff! I'm a fluff monster!


	17. Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junho gets out.

“Ooh, I like this,” Minjun hums, pulling one of Junho’s sweaters down from the closet rack. Junho turns away from his rows of shoes to look. He hasn’t looked at his cold-weather clothes too much. 

“Oh, that is nice,” he realizes in surprise, reaching out to feel the fabric. It’s strong but soft, a deep black that looks just bought. He thumbs at the tag inside the neck as Minjun holds it up to himself in front of the mirror. _100% cashmere._

“Whoever said money can’t buy happiness was full of shit,” Junho remarks, standing back to let his eyes skim over the sweater where Minjun turns this way and that in the mirror. His eyes catch the glint of gold on Minjun's wrist, a flashy watch. Minjun probably has an even better closet than his. “You can borrow it if you want,” he offers uselessly.

Minjun shrugs, and turns to hang it back up. “Yeah, I’ll be back when it’s colder.” He flips through the rest of the sweaters, lingering on some and shuffling them aside. “All your clothes are either black or white. I could psychoanalyze that, but I won’t.” He sends Junho a cheeky smile over one shoulder. 

Junho snorts. “You’re one to talk. You look like a tapestry every time I see you. I feel like I’ll have a seizure.”

Minjun laughs out loud at that one. “This kid’s got jokes,” he says to the clothes, a sarcastic cackle rolling from his chest. He tsk’s repeatedly. “Try that again,” he warns him, baring his teeth. Junho grins and bumps him aside with a hip on purpose. “Ow!”

“So tell me about your boyfriend,” Junho cuts to the chase, arms crossed. Minjun looks away, the shells of his ears darkening and the corner of his mouth twitching secretively. 

“What boyfriend?” He attempts coyly, but just at the word his lips betray him and slip into a smile that fills his cheekbones, makes the eyes he tries to hide shimmer with an inner glee that brings a grin to Junho’s face. Junho slaps him on the back. “Hey!”

“The one that makes you smile like that. Wooyoung.” Junho reaches out to pry Minjun’s hands from where they eagerly drag at the hangers. He turns to Junho then, and Junho gasps because Minjun’s eyes are wet. 

“I missed you!” He exclaims, and then Junho can’t breathe. Minjun’s crushing him in a tight bear hug. “You annoying little brat—”

Junho coughs.

“—I missed you so much!” Minjun squeezes him, and Junho smiles, wrapping his arms about Minjun’s back and returning it. He missed Minjun too, in his own way. That first day in therapy, maybe, he knew something was there— something that wasn’t just doctor and patient. He sighs when Minjun rests his head on his shoulder. 

“Look at us,” Junho says, eyes damp. “We’re like girls, crying in a closet.” He snickers as Minjun pulls away, but suddenly he reaches out and pinches Junho’s cheek. “Fu—”

“Guys can cry too,” Minjun states. “You and Taec are the biggest crybabies I know.” He spins Junho and shoves him out of the door. “I’m hungry. Feed me.”

Junho shuffles along as Minjun pushes him towards the kitchen. “I see what you’re doing,” he taunts, stopping where Minjun positions him at the fridge. “You’re trying to distract me, but I haven’t forgotten. I want to meet him.”

Minjun harrumphs dramatically and throws himself onto a stool. He curls his lip in exaggerated disgust. “You sound like your hubby.”

Junho turns away when he feels his face heat up. He opens the fridge to cool his skin. “I don’t sound like that jerk,” he grumbles, not meaning it, because Taecyeon isn't really a jerk. Not really. But when he walks around with his sleepy eyes and his messy hair in the mornings, or when he transforms into his clean-cut, doctor's coat and tie, Junho feels like cursing him, because the need to touch him, to feel him, makes Junho insane. Minjun snorts behind him. He pulls out two sodas and sets them down on the island where Minjun is sitting. He’s leaning down into the cabinet for a pot when Minjun starts laughing.

“ _Jerk_?” Minjun moans in a high voice, wrought with emotion. He clutches his chest. “Is that love I hear?”

“Shut it,” Junho warns him, raising the pot threateningly over his head. Minjun cowers, still chuckling. 

“Gosh, you’re so scary,” he mumbles, opening his drink. “I guess love makes you all kinds of crazy,” he says under his breath, averting his gaze and lifting his can to his lips. Junho rolls his eyes as he flicks on the stove beneath a pot of water for ramyun. He rounds on Minjun. 

“You would know. Mr. I’m-so-in-love-I-could-light-a-house-on-fire-with-my-glowing-cheeks,” he lifts his hands to frame his face daintily, and Minjun shoves at one of his arms, turning away to hide his pout. Junho leans down next to him and rests his weight on his elbows. “I’m serious. What does he do? Does he make good money? Where does he live? Did you make sure he’s not married? Does he have kids? Sell drugs?”

Minjun drops his face in his hands, his shoulders trembling with laughter. He lifts his eyes after a second and heaves a sigh, his lips still tilted upwards in a persistent smile. “Wooyoung is an artist, and he lives _alone_ in an apartment not far from here.”

Junho lifts his brows, impressed. He saw a bill one morning— the rent they paid for this place was ridiculous. It had to be the same deal for miles, since they were in the city, near the finance district and all the high end shopping malls. He furrows his brows. “An artist, though? Is he like Picasso or something, to make enough dough to live out here?”

Minjun squirms a little, and his eyes drift to a spot near the floor. Junho slides along the counter until their arms crash and Minjun has no choice but to meet his eyes. 

“His parents are well off. He does what he loves, and yes, he could make a decent living off his work if that’s all he had.” Minjun speaks fondly— defensively— with tinted cheeks and misted-over eyes. Junho beams. 

“You had me at _well-off parents_ ,” he chuckles and Minjun rolls his eyes but smiles anyway. So he’s like Taecyeon— rich. Lucky. Junho sighs, and then as an afterthought he pins Minjun with a serious stare. “And he _is_ hot, right?”

Minjun coughs uncomfortably and covers his mouth, but then he returns Junho’s furtive look and nods quickly. Junho laughs. 

“Thank god, ‘cause that other guy— in the pictures—” he shakes his head and grimaces in distaste. Minjun snorts and covers his eyes for a second but doesn’t comment. Junho nudges him. “Let’s all have dinner or something.”

Minjun gapes, wide-eyed, his expression one of horror. “Not with Taec. He’ll scare him off.”

“I’ll make sure he behaves himself,” Junho promises, but he makes sure not to say the same for himself. He plans to make this as awkward and nerve-wracking as possible. Minjun eyes him cautiously, and with another eye-roll, nods reluctantly. He turns back, eyes narrowed in piqued interest. 

“So, are you guys—?” He lifts his brows suggestively and makes a weird gesture under the counter. Junho shakes his head fervently, but then laughs. 

“Well, he lets me kiss him,” Junho bites his lip, remembering that night on the couch, that morning after, and the two weeks since then. Minjun grins mischievously. “A lot,” Junho chuckles, his face growing hot again. It’s weird to talk about it— the things he wants. It’s weirder even to _do_ them. 

He spent so long driving down his desires, calling them temptations and reducing them to impulses that sometimes he touches Taecyeon and part of him wonders if it’s even happening, wonders if it’s just another wet dream and he’ll wake, in his twin-sized bed in his cramped apartment, aroused and disgusted before he plods through another day in medical school. 

But it’s never a dream. It’s always real, and _this is his life_. He swallows, and shakes his head, lifting apologetic eyes to Minjun for his brief lapse. Minjun smiles, examining him, and then he drops his face close, as if someone could hear them. 

“You know you can’t just— _go for it_ — when you’re ready to— right? You have to prepare— before you…” Minjun mumbles, Junho’s confused scowl deepening with every bit of phrase Minjun strings together in that innocence that renders him very young, very childlike at times. Minjun rolls his eyes, frustrated with himself, before continuing. “Cause I know you like to be the one who—” he stops abruptly, then forces a smile that has Junho feeling slightly diabetic. 

But Junho doesn’t get it. He squints at Minjun, coming up short. He shakes his head. He likes to be the one who _what_? Minjun sighs in disappointment. 

“Taec didn’t tell you about your ritual?” He asks, sliding off his stool. Junho shakes his head again, standing as well. His eyes shoot to the now boiling water on the range as Minjun turns away.

“Where are you going? I thought you were hungry!” He follows Minjun until they end up in the bathroom. Minjun drops to his knees and opens the cabinet under the sink. Junho hears things shuffle around until Minjun seems to find what he’s looking for, which is strange, considering Junho’s the one who lives here. He scratches his head— he’s actually never even looked in there. 

Everything he needed always magically appeared right where he could find it, like Taecyeon was some kind of house-fairy. He chuckles to himself, picturing Taecyeon with sparkly wings and a wand, and leans one hand on the granite counter just as Minjun brings out a box of stuff and sets it on the counter. Junho’s brow creases when he notices a smaller box within the jumble, _Home-Waxing Kit_ across the front. _Oh. Shit._

And then there’s a long, silver tube looped inside, a silver wand, a large white pill bottle— and Junho’s jaw drops open. 

“Is that—?”

Minjun sighs and nods, his eyes affirming. He waves a hand at the box. “Your ritual.”

*

Junho finds a parking spot a good distance away from the doors, in the garage under the building where he apparently works. He had glimpsed its facade passing by— it’s a tall building, all steel and glass and concrete with _Dead-Rich-Guy’s Tower_ engraved in stone. He purses his lips and clutches his phone to his ear, listening to it ring. 

“Hey,” Taecyeon answers, and Junho falls back against his seat.

“I’m here,” he announces breathily, staring through the dark as some people pass by his car— _his_ car, not Taecyeon’s, which is awesome because he has his _own_ car— and head towards the doors leading inside. 

“Oh, good.”

“I haven’t gone inside yet.”

Taecyeon waits a beat. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Junho scratches delicately at the leather steering wheel with the tip of a trimmed nail. “So does your dad _really_ like me?” He can’t get it out of his head— last night they had dinner with Taecyeon’s family. His mom, dad, and sister. Taehyun, the patriarch, spent the whole night shoving tumblers of billion-dollar whiskey in Junho’s hands, and Taecyeon spent the night shoving his father away. 

They were an animated bunch. Taecyeon laughs, “Yes, I told you already.”

Junho bites his lip, squeezing his eyebrows together. First of all, their house wasn’t a house— it was more like a museum, gated, far out from the city on a stretch of land by itself. There were maids and an old guy Junho wanted to call Alfred, but it was warm and inviting. There was laughter and there were jokes, and even a bit of singing. Junho had pushed himself across the intimidating threshold and into careful, but emotional hugs, first from Taecyeon’s mother and then from the man he knew had to be Taecyeon’s father. 

“Even though I’m a guy?”

Taecyeon groans, exasperated, but his voice retains that light, easy-going quality Junho notices he always uses when they are talking. “Even though you’re a guy,” he assures him, and Junho cringes just at the memory. He was sweating bullets all night. 

Taecyeon’s sister, Sooyeon, had taken him aside and introduced— _re_ introduced— Junho to her husband, a nice stock trader whose name Junho forgot as soon as he shook his hand. He thinks it might have started with a T. It was terrifying and wonderful all at once. 

Taecyeon sighs, “You should have let me drive you like I said.” Junho purses his lips at how Taecyeon not so subtly veered back to their initial conversation. He flicks at the steering wheel, pouting, content no one is here to see it, and he snorts.

“And look like a kindergartner on my first day? No.”

Taecyeon laughs. “I would have made sure you got inside, at least.”

"Yeah, sure, Daddy."

There's a whoosh of air from Taecyeon's side, and Junho's attention perks at the sound. A rush of excitement fills his chest.

"Oh, you _like_ that?" Junho catches the edge of his own smirk in the rear-view mirror as he settles back.

"I'm at work," Taecyeon evades, his voice a little tense. Junho burns with pride. "I thought we agreed on _slow_?" Taecyeon asks in a much quieter tone, and Junho can just picture him wiping a hand over his eyes, blushing. He snorts. "I'm not letting you distract me."

"Distract you?" Junho teases, his eyes slipping shut, calmed. "So you do like that sort of thing. I'll remember that." His voice drops to a near purr, and he's tempted to roll his seat back. Or stick the key back in the ignition and head home.

"Are you still in the car?"

Junho nods, but then he remembers Taecyeon's not with him. "Yeah," he opens his eyes and just sits, silent, staring unseeing through the driver’s side window. He would rather remain here, in the car, by himself all day. Or go home. He feels exposed out here, without his sweatpants, those four walls around him, and the guarantee of Taecyeon's shape in the doorway. He doesn't know what to expect. What if everyone is freaked out by the fact that he doesn't remember them? What if they laugh?

“Junho,” He jerks when Taecyeon wakes him up, and he gives a grunt in response. “You know these people are your friends, right? They just want to see you. They’re going to make you feel comfortable, I promise.”

“You shouldn’t make promises,” Junho mopes, dropping his head and sighing, eyes shut. Taecyeon’s chuckle rattles, staticky against his ear. He bites his lip. “Whatever. I’m going in, now.”

“Alright,” Taecyeon clears his throat. “Good luck.”

Junho inhales deeply, and opens his car door. “Yeah, bye.” He hangs up, grabs his bag and steps out. He locks the car and heads inside, clutching his phone tightly in one hand. It’s all marble floors and golden tones, gleaming high ceilings. He glances around-- stilettos clack across the floor like out-of-sync drums, and he catches scattered bits of one-sided conversations as people on phones pass him by. 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, and heads toward the elevator bank. 

“Junho!”

Junho turns at the sound of his name. Chansung— a smile breaks onto Junho’s face as Chansung heads over, face lit with a grin. Junho’s stomach itches with that weird feeling he got when he noticed classmates at the grocery store, or saw a professor sitting at a table in the restaurant where he worked. 

“Chansung,” he breathes, his eyes wide and relieved, even though he’s slightly thrown off by the fact that Chansung isn’t in his living room, doesn’t have two cats in his arms.

“You look nice,” Chansung’s grin opens his whole face, and his eyes travel over Junho, up then down. Junho shrugs like he didn’t spend two hours in his closet this morning finding a shirt he liked and shoes that were comfortable instead of cool. One perk of working in the tech field was that he could wear jeans, so that part was easy. 

“Thanks,” Junho mutters, once he realizes too much time has passed and he still hasn’t said anything. Chansung chuckles, and angles his head towards the elevators. 

“I’ll take you up. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“Oh,” Junho’s voice is dull, but not shaky despite how his knees and fingers feel like jelly. “Great.”

Everyone _is_ waiting. Junho’s chest tightens when they step out of the elevators and Chansung waves a card with his own face on it in front of a security sensor and—

“WELCOME BACK!”

A huddle of about fifty people stand before a row of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. A man and woman at the very center hold a big white sheet cake where Junho just barely glimpses his name in blue frosting. His eyes flick around and find tables covered in food and plates, there are ribbons and flowers, balloons— a banner stretches overhead screaming _Welcome Back, Junho!_ and little toy airplanes dangle from the ceiling and Junho’s heart is _thudding_ in his chest.

His palms shut into tight, sweaty fists, and perspiration prickles at his temple and under his arms. A muscle spasms at the corner of his mouth, and the multitude of faces in front of him swim and fade in and out of view and his head _pounds_. 

“...Junho?” One detached voice calls, high and feminine. 

A low baritone joins her, not meant to be audible. “...I told you we shouldn’t have done this…”

Junho jerks his hands up over his eyes and he’s turning before he can stop himself, almost blinded by the pain. Strong hands clench his shoulders and steer him— somewhere. It’s dead silent but for the blood cascading through his ears. A bolt of pain shoots through his head when a door shuts, and even through his hands and his sealed eyelids he sees the lights dim. 

His breaths surge from his mouth in heavy gasps, and all he wants is Taecyeon. He groans from the back of his throat, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Hey.”

A whisper. Gentle fingers poke at his own and peel them, slowly, away from his face. Junho doesn’t know why he cooperates. He pants, and when he opens his eyes, Chansung’s face looms in front of his, white and concerned. Junho blinks— his lashes are wet— and when he swivels his migrained head about he sees a small square window and a boardroom table. The lights are off, but sun filters in, casting everything in filmy grey. 

“Wh—” he starts, his throat dry. He swallows, and shakes his head. He wants to go home. There are too many people here, and he doesn’t know them. He wants Taecyeon. He reaches with trembling hands and pushes his bag off his shoulder and opens it. His phone is slippery in his hands. He needs to call Taecyeon. 

“Junho.” Chansung’s hand appears over his, easing the phone from his unsteady grasp. Junho opens his mouth to speak, his eyes following his phone where Chansung lowers it at his own hip and it disappears inside a khaki pocket. Junho’s brows furrow and his lips curve around a questioning syllable that can’t leave his tongue. 

Chansung grips him by the shoulders again, dips his face level to Junho’s. “Hey. Look at me,” he prompts in a stern voice Junho can’t ignore. His chest still heaves, but the stars in the corners of his vision are fading. Chansung’s features sharpen in the dark, his eyes bore intently into his own. 

“Are you okay?” He asks him, his mouth a sorrowful slant above his jaw. Junho’s eyes burn and he feels his face crumple before he gives an erratic shake of his head. Chansung sighs, and he uses the hold he has on Junho’s shoulders to pull him against his chest. Junho takes deep, hungry breaths into lungs that feel spent, and he clutches at Chansung’s back and buries his face into his collar.

He doesn’t know what he is. But he knows he’s not okay. Chansung remains silent, and the gradual circles he rubs in Junho’s back eventually coax him into a state resembling calm. Minutes pass. He settles in Chansung’s hold, the muscles in his arms relaxing their coil around Chansung’s neck. He sniffles, drowsy, and lets his eyes flutter open to blurry surroundings. 

He exhales through his nose and draws away, his eyes down, embarrassed. Chansung’s hands remain on his back, keeping them close when he inclines his head and Junho has no choice but to give him the eye contact he’s seeking. 

“Sorry,” Junho mumbles, his voice thick. He clears his throat and Chansung shakes his head. 

“Never apologize to me,” he answers, voice just as low. Junho’s eyes wander up to his at the words, and Chansung’s solemn expression softens into a smile. The weight of his hands leaves Junho’s back, and Junho reaches up to rub his eyes.

“I think I need to go home,” he says, lowering his hands to rest them on his hips. Chansung drops onto the edge of the table, folding his hands in his lap. 

“That’s unlike you,” he comments, his tone one shade shy of reprimanding. Junho snorts, some of his humor returning to him, along with a lot more embarrassment. _A lot_ of this is unlike him. He _cried_ at work. Chansung sighs evenly through flared nostrils. “To walk away from a challenge.” He doesn’t need to add it. Junho knows what he means. 

His mouth tightens. “I don’t know those people,” he admits, but the words are a hissed whisper. He glances at the wall he knows they all linger behind, probably talking about him, wondering what’s wrong with him. That man’s voice crawls through the back of his mind. _I told you we shouldn’t have done this._

He folds his arms over his chest. They’ve been talking about him, long before today. “What did they mean?” He moves his gaze back to Chansung, who is already watching him, absorbed, attentive. Junho swallows guiltily, realizing Chansung probably has other things to do. 

“Who?”

“They said they knew they shouldn’t have ‘done this,’” he shrugs, wishing he could remember the man’s face. Or even the woman’s. Everything and everyone was a melted blur of beige and brown flesh-tones, dark and light hair. Airplane balloons bob incessantly about the corners of his skull. 

Chansung gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “That was Mike, from HR. He’s a bit of a pessimist.”

Junho chuckles, and it feels good to laugh. He hides his face and turns, clutching his bottom lip between his teeth. Chansung shifts audibly, and the stiff air in the room moves with him when he stands, his shoe knocking against Junho’s. Junho lifts his chin to meet his eyes. 

“Come on,” Chansung urges him gently. A hand touches him just at one elbow. “They’re not as bad as you think. We all really missed you. We want you back.” A smile stretches across his mouth, and Junho feels that guilty pinch in his gut again. “Plus,” Chansung lifts one eyebrow, “I want some cake.”

Junho’s head tips back to laugh again, and he relinquishes a firm nod. Chansung sends him a triumphant grin, and his hand snakes his arm across Junho’s shoulders and he leads him to the door. Junho stares at the floor, at their feet, until Chansung opens the door, and the light from the main floor trickles golden inside the conference room. He takes a deep breath, and follows Chansung outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, that box. Some of you might have questions about that. If it's not obvious, think back to Chapter 6, when Taecyeon and Junho got into a bit of a fight, and Taecyeon ran down a list of all the things Junho likes to do for the sake of marital bliss. I don't want to scare anyone away, so if you think you might not want to know, don't ask. If you haven't figured it out, or if a friend hasn't told you, I'll happily explain! #cleanholegetsthepole


	18. Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junho finds some bumps in the road.

Junho follows the smell of cheese and finds Taecyeon in the kitchen, fussing with something on the stove. Taecyeon sidesteps to a drawer for something, and when he reaches up for some seasoning the hem of his too-small black tank top rides up to reveal the layer of bare skin between it and his only other garment, blue plaid boxers. Junho bites his lip and takes the moment to admire Taecyeon's body as he approaches.

“That smells good,” he makes himself known, and Taecyeon turns to peer at him over one shoulder. His tired smile beckons Junho closer. He stops just at Taecyeon’s side and sees a grilled cheese sandwich sitting in a pan, butter sizzling around the browned edges of crust. 

“Did I wake you?” Taecyeon asks in a small voice, pressing down on the sandwich with a spatula. Junho shakes his head and steps even closer, so the front of his body presses against Taecyeon’s side, and Taecyeon turns again, brows furrowed. Junho tilts his chin up expectantly and touches the smooth plane of Taecyeon’s tricep, shutting his eyes until he feels what he wants— Taecyeon’s lips on his. 

It’s a brief peck, and Junho smirks at Taecyeon’s caution when they part. 

“You want one?” Taecyeon gestures towards the pan, and Junho shakes his head. He’s not that hungry. It’s almost eleven, and they _both_ have to work in the morning, so he doesn’t want to risk an upset stomach. He sighs and ghosts his fingertips up and down the back of Taecyeon’s bare arm. He likes touching him. He likes how Taecyeon reacts to being touched— most of the time it’s a little twitch in his face, others it’s a visible shiver that never deters Junho. It eggs him on. 

“I ate a lot at work today,” Junho murmurs, fleetingly thinking of laying his head on Taecyeon’s shoulder. He doesn’t, simply for the fact that Taecyeon is cooking. 

“How was it? I came to check on you, but you were asleep,” Taecyeon flicks off the heat, and Junho shrugs, dropping his hand just before Taecyeon moves to get a plate for his sandwich. He presses a knife diagonally across his sandwich and halves it, takes a chilled beer from the fridge, and Junho follows him to the living room, where they settle on the sofa.

He reaches across Taecyeon’s lap for the beer and lifts it to his lips. He wrinkles his nose at the funny taste, and Taecyeon sniffs. 

“It’s Belgian,” he comments, already on the second half of his sandwich. Junho smacks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, still grimacing. 

“It’s disgusting.”

Taecyeon quirks an eyebrow at him and pulls the bottle from his hand to take a sip for himself. “Says the guy who doesn’t drink.”

Junho _doesn’t_ pout, but he leans his head, finally, on Taecyeon’s shoulder and sighs. 

“I think I had a panic attack,” Junho mumbles, and Taecyeon’s hand freezes on its way to popping the last bite into his mouth. He tips his jaw back to meet Junho’s eyes. Junho lifts his brows, sober yet still slightly amazed at what transpired today. “Has that ever happened to me before?”

A muscle in Taecyeon’s jaw twitches, and his eyes move between Junho’s face and the TV, unseeing, just shy of haunted. Junho suspects the answer before Taecyeon speaks. 

“Once,” he says, and finishes off his sandwich, dusting his hands together. His limbs move and he turns, and Junho lifts his head from Taecyeon’s shoulder to better accommodate the arm circling his waist. Taecyeon stares down into his eyes, shifting closer, bodies aligned at their sides. “Are you ok?”

Junho nods. “It was just… crowded.” He chuckles a little, but without any mirth. He exhales through his nose, thinking back to everyone in the office. Part of him was a little guilty. When he returned from the conference room to face them all again, they all pretended it was normal, and that they didn’t just witness his meltdown. It was a relief just as much as it was annoying. 

“Chansung was a big help, though,” he mentions as an afterthought. Taecyeon tilts his head to one side, his concerned eyes dropping from Junho’s gaze to his mouth and then returning. 

“Was he?” Junho nods, and Taecyeon leans in, joining their mouths once again. His lips are slick with butter, salty when Junho’s tongue slips over them, a brief taste, and then the warmth is gone and he feels Taecyeon’s breath on his cheek. “Good.”

Junho hears himself hum, and he’s inching forward, hands searching for and finding whatever part of Taecyeon’s body he can get— he wraps his arms about Taecyeon’s middle, dragging the hem of his teeny-tiny tank up, a thin vee of tan abdomen catching his eye. He tucks his head beneath Taecyeon’s chin, shutting his eyes.

“I like it when you kiss me,” he admits, distracted now from anything and everything involving work. Taecyeon’s fingers stroke his back through his t-shirt. “You can’t make me do all the work.”

Taecyeon snorts, and Junho tightens his hold. “I don’t want to get carried away,” he murmurs from above. His honesty isn't surprising.

Junho opens his eyes, staring thoughtfully down the length of black ribbed fabric covering Taecyeon’s torso. It’s interrupted by his own arm, stretched across Taecyeon’s stomach. Carried away? He thinks back to that morning, those twenty-four hours of _firsts_ that, shockingly, he hasn’t wanted to erase or forget. Taecyeon’s Adam’s apple bobs just beneath Junho's temple, and he hears the clink of glass hitting the side table. 

He thinks of kissing Taecyeon in the kitchen, of the hunger he felt, the desperation coiling tight in his fingers as they grabbed and groped at Taecyeon’s chest, at his shoulders. He thinks of the way his mouth opened, wanting and receptive, how his tongue sought out Taecyeon’s, tentative but ravaging. 

“That wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” he whispers, digging his cheek into the hard plane of Taecyeon’s chest. Taecyeon is silent for too long a stretch of time, his breathing noticeably heavier beneath Junho’s arms. Junho lifts his head but keeps his hold secure. Taecyeon is already watching him, and their eyes settle on one another’s. 

Junho doesn’t let his waver when he continues, “I don’t want you to hold back. You have my consent to...” He struggles for words to express what he wants. _Grab his ass?_ _Touch his dick? Smother him with kisses? All of the above and a whole lot more?_ He bites down on his lip and shrugs. “...do whatever you feel like doing.” 

Taecyeon manages to lift amused eyebrows, and his lips slide up into a wry grin. “So, slow is out the window?”

Junho throws his head back and groans in exasperation. He tried. He really did. “I can’t do slow. You know me,” he smiles through a sigh, absently skimming his fingers in little circular patterns over Taecyeon’s stomach. It contracts under the light touch, and Junho’s eyes flick back up to his. 

Taecyeon smiles adoringly at him, and it’s almost too much. Almost. “I do know you.”

Junho fights down the warmth swelling in his chest and sighs, feeling accomplished. Relieved. He glances at the empty plate sitting on the coffee table, the nearly empty beer that’s risen to room temperature on the stand next to Taecyeon’s armrest. 

“I’m kinda hungry,” he realizes. 

“You want a sandwich?” Taecyeon asks, already moving to stand. Junho wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. He’s not in the mood for that. He wants something sweet. 

“Is there any more ice cream?”

Taecyeon laughs as he lifts a hand to card his fingers through Junho’s hair, and Junho’s eyelids flutter when the tickling strands are swept away from his forehead. On impulse, he turns the tip of his nose to nuzzle at the inside of Taecyeon’s wrist. Taecyeon’s smile doesn’t fade. 

“I don’t know,” he chuckles, “you eat all of it.”

Junho reaches up and pinches Taecyeon’s nipple through his tank, and Taecyeon lets out a high-pitched yelp, flinching away from him on the sofa. Junho smirks, laughing as Taecyeon rubs at his chest and bowls over, whimpering and chuckling at the same time.

“Let’s go out,” Taecyeon suggests, sliding to the edge of the sofa when he recovers. Junho sends him a doubting stare. It’s almost midnight, and they both have jobs. Taecyeon insists. “I know a place.”

*

Soft serve is what he’s been missing, these months. It’s the taste, the texture he’s been searching for and not finding, until now. And he knows, as he watches the swirly white confection float through space into his waiting hands, and the combined flavors of cream and sugar waft into his nose— he’s officially in love.

It’s half the original size when Taecyeon gets his own and they move to a table at the little creamery that is a five-minute walk from their apartment. Junho closes his eyes and savors every swipe of his tongue across it, and only catches himself when he hears Taecyeon snickering next to him. 

Taecyeon leans his elbows on the table, a glint in his eye and lips sloped in pure, unfettered amusement. He throws up his free hand defensively. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Junho sniffs and narrows his eyes at him. “You just enjoy watching.” He eats more of his ice cream cone, but tones down his earlier zeal. Taecyeon bites at chunks of his chocolate one, which Junho thinks is absurd because _who bites ice cream?_

“It would be strange if I didn’t,” Taecyeon quips, his shoulders shimmying beneath his hoodie as he laughs again. Junho feels his face heat up, and he lowers his eyes to the table. 

“You’re such a fucking pervert.”

“Says you,” Taecyeon sasses back, and he keeps chuckling, clearly cracking himself up. Junho rolls his eyes, but the muscles around his mouth tug persistently with a smile. He’s lifting his eyes to Taecyeon when he notices— the man behind the counter is watching them. He abruptly looks away, the brim of his red cap covering his eyes when he leans forward to tinker with something Junho cannot see. 

And unease, dense and toxic, begins to sit in the pit of his stomach because— because they must be obvious, and that man must see. It clearly shows on Junho’s face, what he’s thinking, when Taecyeon’s brows draw inward and he turns to peer in the cashier’s direction with a scowl. 

“You wanna go?” He whips his head back around to meet Junho’s eyes, and Junho nods, swinging his legs over the bench and standing. When they reach the sidewalk, he casts a glance around them. It’s dark, but the amber glow of streetlamps dotting every few meters ensures they are in plain sight of any souls besides their own.

Taecyeon’s sticking the remnants of his waffle cone into his mouth while melted vanilla runs, cool, down the back of Junho’s palm as they walk side-by-side, and it’s with a start that he leans down to lick it away. Taecyeon’s arm brushes the outside of his, just a shadow of contact, but Junho finds himself inching away with another quick glance around. They are alone. A few cars pass on the road, blackened windows shielding the drivers from view. 

Taecyeon sighs next to him, but he doesn’t say anything, and Junho’s eyes soften. He feels rotten, slimy when he peers up to stare at Taecyeon’s profile. He opens his mouth, but Taecyeon turns to him with a gentle smile and a shake of his head.

“Eat it before it melts,” he warns him with a light tone, dimple piercing his cheek. But Junho hears the unspoken lie in his voice, the antithesis to Taecyeon’s implied _it’s ok_ , because it’s _not_. He turns away to finish up just as their building peeks over the line of trees, barely tasting it. 

There he goes. He messed it all up before it even began. He can’t have good things like this— like Taecyeon— because he doesn’t deserve them. It’s not fair. He isn’t embarrassed to be with Taecyeon, to be seen with him, but that man’s eyes felt like a knife in his back, like needles at his throat, like a bullet to the chest. He hears his own sharp intake of breath, and he registers the elevator doors sliding closed in front of him. 

“Junho.”

“Yeah?” Junho mutters low, preoccupied. Warm fingers slide between his own, and Taecyeon’s palm sits, tender, against his own. The zipper on Taecyeon’s sweatshirt appears in front of him, and he lifts his chin to meet Taecyeon’s gaze. Taecyeon peers down at him with a forgiving smile. 

“I know it’s different when we’re alone,” he says, “Easier.” His free hand presses gently to the side of Junho’s face, and Junho’s eyelids quiver when the pad of Taecyeon’s thumb caresses his cheekbone. He fights to maintain their eye contact when all he wants is to shut his eyes and sink into Taecyeon’s touch. Taecyeon dips his face closer, his eyes intent, and his fingers tighten in Junho’s hair with meaning. 

“I’d never ask you for more than you can give me. I love you too much for that.” He stares into Junho’s eyes, and the words burn heavy in Junho's ears before they resound in his mind. Junho’s breaths spill hurriedly from his lips and he reaches out to grab Taecyeon’s side, urging their bodies closer, chest to chest. Taecyeon comes in to kiss his open mouth, pushes his tongue inside and flicks it against Junho’s one, two, three times, all sugar and chocolate.

Junho’s hand pulses around Taecyeon’s, his fingertips delve into Taecyeon’s firm flank, and the railing prods at his lower back when Taecyeon gently presses him against the wall. Junho wriggles his hand loose from Taecyeon’s and winds both his arms around Taecyeon’s neck, breathing him in and kissing him back _hard_ because Taecyeon _understands him_ and Junho wants him so, so _badly_. The elevator dings, announcing their floor. The cage shudders to a stop, the doors open, but they ignore it all, lost for the moment in one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hereby rename this story to "Fluff and Chill."


	19. Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junho has his day in court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mentions of criminal violence and firearms, so please be advised.

Taecyeon was right— it is cold out, especially for September. Junho pulls his long grey coat tighter around his body, breathes hot air onto his hands as he turns to watch Taecyeon lock the car. 

“Time?” Junho asks, sucking a breath through his chattering teeth and jogging a little in place for some friction. Taecyeon glances down at his phone before tucking it away. 

“We’re still early.” He smiles Junho’s way and they fall into step with one another. Junho shoves his hands into his pockets and casts a sweeping glance around the parking lot. It’s a grey, cold day, not even officially autumn yet. Dried leaves kick across the asphalt under chilled wind, and crows caw distantly. The severe stone facade of the courthouse rises straight ahead, ominous and looming. 

Junho sighs and shakes his head. He’s been waiting for this trial ever since Nichkhun walked through their door. His endless meetings with the prosecution team and the store owners pressing charges were draining. After this, he didn’t want to be involved anymore. But Nichkhun and the lead counsel for this case, Baek Ji Young, had warned him— once people saw his face, things could get ugly. 

“You alright?” Taecyeon brushes his arm against his just as Junho’s own phone vibrates against his chest from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He nods, wiggling his hand inside as they step onto the sidewalk leading to the courthouse steps. There is a text waiting, from Chansung. 

_Good luck today!_  
Junho sniffs, and types a quick reply. 

_I’d rather be at work._

“Chansung wishes me luck,” Junho comments with a smile after texting his answer. 

“Is that something you need for a testimony?” Taecyeon asks from next to him, pulling one heavy door open in Junho’s periphery. “Luck?”

Junho sends his smile back to him as they step inside into the warmth. “He’s just being nice. He even offered to come.”

Taecyeon shoots his eyebrows up, doubtful. “To the trial?”

Junho nods, peering up into Taecyeon’s face when Taecyeon stands in front of him in the entryway. He cocks his head to one side. “He’s like my little slave. He does everything I tell him to do.”

Taecyeon purses his lips. His eyes are admonishing. “Slavery is illegal.” Movement in the wide foyer distracts them both, and Junho turns with a smirk to see a guard coming their way. 

His cheeks are still numb when they pass through the security scanner and the guard nods to them to continue. Nichkhun is waiting for them further down the hall. 

“Where are your smiles?” Nichkhun chirps, grinning back at the two of them. He looks handsome, professional in his navy pinstriped suit. Junho turns his gaze onto Taecyeon to see his poker face very much in place before it melts into something a little closer to Nichkhun’s cheery expression. “This is a happy day. We’re gonna put those mother fuckers away for good. Pardon my language.”

Junho smiles at the back of Nichkhun’s head when he leads them into a small room furnished in dark wood and black leather. “I think I’d feel different if I remembered what happened,” he mutters with a shrug, pulling off his coat and settling down in a chair. Nichkhun moves to sit on the edge of the huge, heavy-looking table with a nonchalant shift of his shoulders. 

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“We just want this to be over,” Taecyeon says from behind Junho, and Junho feels the supportive presence of his hand when its weight lands on the back of his chair. Nichkhun peers up in Taecyeon’s direction, nodding. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. His gaze flicks down to Junho. “Thanks again, Junho. Everyone really appreciates you doing this. Especially considering the attention you’ll get afterwards.”

Junho is about to shrug, but he catches himself just before his muscles move. He could care less about any of this— but he doesn’t want to come across that way. With him present, testifying, the likelihood of a conviction for all the charges— armed robbery and attempted murder in the first degree— are ever higher. He pushes his lips into a smile. 

“It’s not a problem,” he says instead. 

“Hopefully we can contain whatever shitstorm this causes,” comes Taecyeon’s passive aggressive voice. From the switch in Nichkhun’s face, Junho guesses Taecyeon is glaring again. He turns his head to meet Taecyeon’s eyes. 

“I said it’s not a problem. If people want to write articles about me, that’s fine. I can handle it. It’ll stop eventually,” he reasons, and Taecyeon’s lips thin from a glare to just a scowl. He looks pacified for the moment. 

“Plus,” Junho smirks up at him, “you can always call your dad if it gets too bad,” Junho snickers, biting down on his bottom lip, and he hears Nichkhun’s sharp snort behind him. Taecyeon rolls his eyes and peers between the two of them in betrayal. 

“Whatever.”

Nichkhun sighs and checks his watch. “Everyone else will be coming in soon. I need to step away. Taec, I’ll show you where you’ll be sitting. Are your parents here yet?”

“Not yet,” Taecyeon shakes his head, pulling his phone out to glance at it. Junho peers up at him, a little disappointed they can’t stay together. He has to wait here, separated from the trial and other witnesses, so that whatever goes on in the courtroom doesn’t affect his testimony. 

Taecyeon’s hand squeezes on the back of his chair. “I guess I’ll see you on the stand,” he says, and Junho frowns at the farewell note he hears in Taecyeon’s voice. Taecyeon’s eyes soften, and he’s leaning down before Junho can say anything to stop him. Their lips brush, barely long enough for them to share a breath, but when Junho’s eyes open, Taecyeon withdraws, and his eyes hold his, steely. Promising. 

“Ahem.”

Heat races up the side of Junho’s neck, his collar is tight and uncomfortable. He drops his head and wets his lips. Nichkhun’s smile is sly and his eyes move between the two of them as Taecyeon straightens above him, tucking his hands into the pockets of his long black wool coat. 

“Let’s go,” he says, and he sends Junho one last smile before Nichkhun follows him out. Junho sees Nichkhun’s hand close over the door knob. 

“When the _hell_ did that happen?” Nichkhun hisses, just before the door slides shut and they leave him by himself.

Junho sighs, mildly embarrassed. But it’s Nichkhun— he’s a friend. He knows them. But that doesn’t mean Junho wants to make out in front of him. He runs a hand over his face and sighs, his mind flying back to that man at the ice cream place. He shudders just thinking about it. 

His eyes— the hawkish glare made him feel like a freak. It reminds him of his mother.

He forces himself to remain still and thoughtless as possible as the time ticks by. After a while he hears the gentle cadence of Nichkhun’s voice again, along with a woman’s that he’s sure belongs to the prosecutor, Miss Baek Ji Young. Nichkhun isn’t part of the trial, but his father-in-law’s firm is handling the case. 

He had to leave his phone with the security check at the doors. Hours pass, and then Junho is no longer alone. The door opens. A uniformed officer nods to him from the doorway. 

“Mr. Lee, you’ve been called to the witness stand.”

Junho sighs and rises, fingertips finding his button and easing his suit jacket shut. He clenches his jaw and follows the man without a word. His own footfalls echo through the long corridor, and he stares curiously at the baton fixed to the officer’s waist. His eyes flick to the man’s left side to see the black handle of his gun. 

The men who robbed the store had guns, he remembers. Everything could have been much, much worse. He wrinkles his brow as the officer stops them both at the door leading into the courtroom, and it occurs to him that that is the first thought he’s had about the incident that wasn’t completely bland. 

The double doors open with a series of thuds, and Junho’s lips tremble into an awkward smile as he steps inside unceremoniously. A number of people are gathered, either spectators or families of people involved. He walks down the long aisle leading to the stand. The judge watches him, swallowed up in her robes, slouching to one side and staring owlishly at him through horn-rimmed frames.

He purses his lips and stops at the stand. The bailiff approaches with the book, and he swears his oath, trying in vain not to roll his eyes when he’s finally allowed to sit. 

A tall, handsome man in a slim black suit rises from the opposite side of the courtroom. “Good afternoon, Mr. Lee.” Junho opens his mouth to speak, but then his eyes fall from the defense attorney and to the three occupied chairs just to the man’s left. 

Three men sit, clad in prison jumpsuits, staring off into space. Junho’s chest clenches, and what he feels seeing their faces is unbearable for that instant before he flicks his eyes back to the defense attorney. The attorney moves around the long table and walks towards him. Junho squeezes his hands together in his lap, wringing his fingers where no one else can see. 

“Good afternoon,” he finally manages, and it surprises him how even, how stern, his voice is when it leaves him. He breathes a quiet, long inhale, and fixed his eyes on the attorney. Moon. Moon Eric. That’s his name, Junho recalls, and he swallows.

Moon slips his hands into his pockets and regards Junho with a polite smile. “I think everyone in this room would agree with me when I say it’s remarkable that you’re even here, given the seriousness of your condition.” Junho feels his back stiffen, and it’s hard, keeping his eyes off of the three men. His attackers. The thieves.

Moon lifts a hand to stroke his jaw thoughtfully. “I’ll cut to the chase, then. You’re suffering from post-traumatic amnesia, are you not?”

Junho sighs. Easy, so far. 

“Yes,” he says, his voice bouncing around the room through the tiny microphone in front of him. Keys clack in the corner of his vision, and he glances that way to see a woman typing earnestly on an old-fashioned type writer. In a sectioned off seat next to hers is another woman, glancing up at him every so often as her hand travels across a sheet of yellowish sketch paper. 

Junho chews the inside of his mouth. He suddenly becomes aware of his knee bouncing, and he stops abruptly.

Moon watches him, unblinking. “Do you remember walking into the Speed Street Filling Station on the night in question?”

“No.”

“Do you remember three armed men entering the premises?”

“No.”

“Do you recognize any of the defendants as one of the three aforementioned men?”

Junho sighs, and gives one shake of his head. “No.”

“Do you remember awaking from a coma on the morning of…” Moon moves back to the defense’s table and flips a page on the legal pad at his spot, “April 16th of this year?”

“Yes,” Junho doesn’t take his eyes off of Moon. He can see where this is going already. Ji Young was right. 

“And what was the last thing you recalled on that day, when you awoke?”

Junho flicks his tongue over his lips, inhaling deeply, trying to push down the irritation swarming his stomach as the shadow of a sneer flits across Moon’s face.

“The last thing I recalled was studying for medical school exams.”

“Ah,” the corner of Moon’s mouth juts in a nearly imperceptible smirk around the syllable. “And are you currently enrolled in medical school?”

“No.”

A taunting gleam shines in Moon’s eyes. “Then when were you a medical student?”

 _Remember what Ji Young said_ , Junho coaches himself. “A little over four years ago.”

Moon furrows his brows, and moves his eyes over each face in the jury before they land on Junho again, skeptical. Condescending. Junho narrows his eyes— Ji Young had warned him about this. About the defense’s tactic with him in particular. He finds her gaze over Moon’s shoulder. Her jaw drops in an imperceptible nod. _Stay calm._

“What use is a witness without any memories of an _alleged_ attempted homicide? An _alleged_ first degree armed robbery?” Moon asks, turning his face towards the jury. There’s a brief murmur and audible shifting from their side of the room, and Junho’s pulse picks up. Some of their eyes lock with his, and he looks away.

“Your honor,” Ji Young calls from her seat, and Junho peers up to see the judge nodding. 

“Mr. Moon, please direct your questions to the witness, _not_ the jury.”

Moon doesn’t smile when he nods, and turns back to face Junho, continuing his slow pace in front of the stand. 

“I have no further questions for this witness, your honor.” Moon’s voice is snide, and the dismissive turn of his head sets Junho on edge. He only realizes the prosecution has started its line of questioning when he hears Ji Young’s voice. 

“Afternoon, Mr. Lee.” Her hair is swept back conservatively from her face, her straight, confident posture puts Junho a little more at ease. He swallows again. She knows what she’s doing. He smiles back at her. 

“Afternoon.”

“Do you recognize any of the defendants?”

Junho casts his eyes in their direction once again. It would be a cruel twist of fate if, suddenly, everything came back to him during the trial. None of them are particularly memorable, even now. The one closest to Moon has a visible tattoo creeping above his collar, up his neck, that Junho can just make out. They all watch him now, through dead, distant eyes void of remorse. Their faces are pale under the wash of courtroom light. 

Junho wonders— when were they last out of their cells? He turns back to Ji Young and shakes his head.

“No.”

She purses her lips and folds her hands in front of her hips. She averts her gaze in the direction of the judge, and while her voice flows into Junho’s ears, he does not hear the words. His own eyes flicker over the faces in the room, for Taecyeon. He scans the first few rows and doesn’t see him. 

“Mr. Lee,” Junho’s focus returns to her at the sound his name. Wheels squeak, and a bailiff pushes a TV towards the front of the room where everyone, including himself and the jury, can see the screen. “Take a look at this video, Exhibit Number One. This is surveillance footage from inside the convenience store on the night in question.”

Junho’s jaw drops. He knew they had evidence, but— a video? He nods, and she turns. The bailiff hits a button, and it starts.

“Notice at the bottom right of the screen, Mr. Lee Junho enters the store at 9:27 P.M. Two others are present,” She aims a laser pointer at the screen, and Junho sees himself— a blurry, grainy image in black and white circled with a red dot, standing near the freezers. She does the same with the store owner, behind the counter, and his wife, an aisle away from Junho, stocking a shelf. 

The timestamp leaps forward, and Ji Young pauses the video again. “At 9:28 P.M., three more enter the store. They are, in order, the defendants. Mr. Lee Changmin, Mr. Lim Seulong, and Mr. Jeong Jinwoon.”

A twittery burn kicks up in Junho’s stomach at the sound of their names. He knew them, of course. But hearing them, seeing the three black shapes come through the doors on the video— he drops his head and rubs a hand over his eyes briefly, taking a breath. 

Ji Young speaks again, and he’s forced to look up at the screen. “Mr. Lim is the first to draw his weapon, a 9mm pistol, Exhibit Number Two.” The bailiff comes forward again, placing a bagged black gun on the table next to the TV for all to see. Junho feels all the blood drain from his face. 

In the video, Lim points the gun directly at the clerk, and makes an abrupt motion with his free hand. Something black slides across the counter, and the clerk picks it up. A bag. He turns to the cash register, and it opens. 

“Mr. Lee Changmin is the second, as you can see in the top left. He restrains Mrs. Chae and drags her to the front of the store, where her husband can see. Exhibit Number Three.”

Junho narrows his eyes, a shiver racing up his spine as the masked man clutches her around the neck, barrel of his gun poised to her temple. The three masked men appear unaware that Junho is present. They all face Mr. Chae, who drops the bag and bends down to pick it back up. Lim gestures violently with his gun. 

“At 9:35 P.M., the current witness, Mr. Lee Junho takes a 12 oz bottle of Budweiser beer, moves from his hiding spot, and intervenes, striking Mr. Lee Changmin from behind. Exhibit Number Four, the remains of the bottle.”

Junho squints at the screen, and it’s _strange_ , watching himself slide across the floor at the back of the store, crouching with the bottle. He remains low, a meter behind the man clutching Mrs. Chae, until the moment he sprints forward and brings the bottle down on the man’s head. 

“At this point, Mrs. Chae disarms Mr. Lee Changmin, and Mr. Lee Changmin falls to the floor, incapacitated. Mr. Jeong Jinwoon then strikes Mr. Lee Junho with two blows to the head, using his own 9mm pistol, Exhibit Number Five.” 

Mrs. Chae is blurry as she snatches the gun from Lee Changmin just as he crumples to the floor in a heap of dark clothes and broken glass. And then the third tall shape comes swiftly— Junho doesn’t have a chance. He flinches violently when the gun falls once upon the back of his head, and he sees himself stagger forward. Jeong follows him for another strike, and Junho slumps to the floor next to Lee Changmin.

“At 9:37 P.M., the final blow renders Mr. Lee Junho unconscious.”

Jeong points his gun down towards Junho's prone figure to finish him off, and Junho’s heart squeezes in his chest. Jeong doesn’t pull the trigger. Instead, Lim rushes forward to stop him, bag in hand, and Mrs. Chae points her stolen weapon at the both of them. It is obvious even from the terrible quality that she is shaking. Lim and Jeong pull Lee Changmin from the floor, eying her, and the three of them run out of the store. Darkness starts to pool around Junho’s head, flowing outward. It is blood. 

Mrs. Chae drops the gun and kneels next to him. Mr. Chae moves hurriedly behind the counter.

“At 9:38 P.M., Mr. Chae dialed 911.”

The video stops, then. The courtroom is silent, but Junho hears his own breathing, loud and hurried over the stillness. His eyes track across each piece of evidence lying on the table. The guns. The brown fragments of glass from the bottle he used. Ji Young’s heels sound on the floor, two hollow echoes that carry her closer to the witness stand. 

Her eyes are warm when he lifts his face to look at her. But something else is there, burning in them. Anger. Resolve. And it’s contagious; it swirls around in the pit of his stomach and emerges, hot moisture in his eyes. It comes back to him, everything she’s said to him up until now, every word he ignored.

_“The defense thinks your memory loss is their strength.”_

“Mr. Lee, again please, for the Court. Do you remember the events that transpired in that surveillance video?” There is no inflection in her question. It is a statement, for everyone— judge, jury, counsel, and witness— to bear and to digest. He doesn’t remember a thing.

“No.”

_“But it’s ours.”_

She drops her chin, keeping her eyes pinned on his, the wheels of a victory clearly burning in her mind though she remains cool, emotionless for the court. 

“Do you remember your marriage, your career, or anything else from the past five years?”

Each forgotten thing she ticks off is a pang in Junho’s stomach, and it’s _not fair_ that he lost all of that, and that he didn’t even know what it meant. But now— now he thinks he understands.

“ _No,_ ” Junho hears the pain crack his own voice, and his eyes leave hers to meet those of Jeong Jinwoon, Lim Seulong, and Lee Changmin, wan and so very _dead_ as they stare back at him. Junho grimaces, because _why do they look so empty?_. They walked out of those doors with the Chaes’ money and Junho’s memories. They took everything from him, and they feel nothing. It just isn’t fair.

Ji Young nods, and turns to regard the judge with a proud tilt to her chin. “Nothing further, your honor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sowwy 2AM! And yes, that's the lovely Eric from Shinhwa and the lovely BJY of Ear Candy.


	20. Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the trial.

Navy stiletto pumps fill the empty space in front of Junho’s black oxfords, and he peers up to meet Ji Young’s gaze. She smiles, clutching at the leather bag draped over one shoulder. 

“Guilty of all charges,” She announces, even though Junho has already guessed simply from her face. He nods, lacing his fingers together in his lap, and her smile starts to fade at his reaction— or the lack of one. 

He peers down at his hands, counting the veins he sees through his skin. Every muscle in his body is tight, like a rattlesnake poised to strike. He breathes deeply through his nose, but the air freezes in his throat and he’s barely able to stop himself from choking. 

Ji Young steps closer, concern in her eyes. “Junho, is there anything I can do?”

The breath leaves him as a sigh, and he reaches up to wipe at the twitch in his brow. “I just want to be with my family,” he mutters, that familiar tingling in his eyes coming just as the words leave his mouth. Her lips thin, and she nods. 

As soon as the courtroom doors open, commotion erupts. It’s dark outside, but camera flashes disrupt it intermittently. Voices fight to soar over one another, all calling his name. 

Junho gasps at the view that emerges over Ji Young’s shoulder. A sea of faces swarms at the bottom of the stone steps, arms stretching phones and recorders and microphones their way, eager for a line. The press is polite enough to part as they descend the steps, led through the mass by the same guard who welcomed them. 

Ji Young stops to comment, and Junho nearly shoves her off the sidewalk in his earnest to get away. He stops behind her, and in that instant he is blinded by the lights. He can’t distinguish a single word. He clenches his eyes shut and then squints through the back and forth play of light and dark, near epileptic. And then Junho sees him. 

Taecyeon’s eyes are hard and angry, pinned on him, and he walks forward at the same time Junho cuts around Ji Young and pushes past the reporters who surge around him like ants on a breadcrumb. Taecyeon steps out of the dark and into the twin beams cast by his car’s headlights. Footsteps sound behind Junho as he all but runs towards Taecyeon, with gritted teeth and heavy limbs of a man drowning under foamy waves.

Words cannot describe the sound that leaves Junho’s throat when he crashes into Taecyeon, when his arms close around Taecyeon’s middle and squeeze him, when he feels Taecyeon’s hand in his hair. He buries his face into Taecyeon’s neck for the long stretch of seconds that passes before he needs to look at his face. 

He draws back but doesn’t let go. Taecyeon’s nose wrinkles like he’s about to snarl, but Junho sees it for what it is when he catches the gleam of wetness in Taecyeon’s eyes.

“You ok?” Taecyeon asks softly, his breath warm on Junho’s chilled face. Junho nods into the palm that drops to clutch his jaw, his own fingers flexing around the muscles in Taecyeon’s back. Taecyeon smiles at him and nods, assured. 

He turns and guides Junho towards the stalled car, and Junho just makes out the shapes of Taecyeon’s mother, father, and sister before they come forward and wrap their arms around him, passing him light touches and comforting words. But only one word sticks in Junho’s mind as his eyes travel over each of their faces, already spoken but resonating stronger than before and unfurling the soreness in his chest: family. 

*

“Between you and me, it might be best to cancel that dinner reservation you made,” Taecyeon breaks the comfortable silence, reaching up to adjust the rearview mirror. Junho casts a lazy glance up at the reflection. A queue of black cars and news vans follow behind them on the highway. 

Junho scoffs and drops his head back on the seat. “It might,” he whispers, shutting his eyes. Taecyeon wakes him when they get to the parking garage at home. There are camera crews waiting. Junho groans in irritation at the sight of them, but he unbuckles his seatbelt. 

Taecyeon shoots him a daring look from the driver’s seat. “Ready?”

“Does it matter?” Junho remarks dryly, and Taecyeon snorts and turns to open the door. Noise fills the garage and echoes off the concrete, and Junho skirts around the front of the car, eying the reporters warily. He sticks out a hand until the warm clutch of Taecyeon’s closes around his, and his breath leaves him, a relieved puff in the frigid air.

“Mr. Lee! How did it feel to face the men that took away the last five years of your life?”

“There’s been some speculation that you are faking amnesia merely for publicity—”

They keep their heads down and make it into the elevator. Junho bangs a finger on the _close doors_ button as many times as he can before the reporters are all out of sight. Only when he turns the key in the lock and his socks hit the living room rug is the air fresh enough to breathe. 

He throws his coat down on the couch and peels off his suit jacket, leaving it in the same place. “That was annoying.” He scrubs at his eyes and cheeks with his palms, still agitated.  
Taecyeon remains quiet. Junho only hears the shuffle of fabric as he removes his own coat. He’s loosening his tie when Junho turns to look at him. He drops his hands from his face and blinks, peering at Taecyeon. 

“Where were you during my testimony? I— I couldn’t find you,” he doesn’t mean to sound as needy as he does. He clamps his mouth shut and drops his gaze. Taecyeon steps closer. 

“The prosecutor asked me to sit in the back so I wouldn’t distract you. Hey.” He prods at Junho’s elbow, and Junho looks up to catch the edge of Taecyeon’s smirk. “You were great.”

Junho snorts, rolling his eyes. “ _I was great_? Is that something I need for a testimony?” He cocks his head to one side, inching his face closer to Taecyeon’s, as much a taunt as throwing the words back onto him. Taecyeon quirks his nose in annoyance at him, playful, and drops in to kiss Junho’s bottom lip. 

Junho sighs, and Taecyeon pats him on the arm. “Come on, I’m hungry.” He leads Junho by the hand to the kitchen, and Junho settles on a stool at the island while Taecyeon busies himself at the sink. 

“You earned a glass of wine, Mr. Lee,” Taecyeon announces, in his most official, most lawyer-ly voice. Junho applauds and turns to watch him. 

“Or two?” He lifts his eyebrows, hopeful. 

“Or one,” Taecyeon snickers, and Junho pouts. His eyes follow Taecyeon as he sets some water to boil and rummages around the fridge for onions and garlic. 

“Want me to do anything?” He offers. 

Taecyeon flicks warm eyes up to him from his task of chopping away, a slow smile accents the dimple in his cheek. “Just sit there,” he says, holding Junho’s gaze. Junho’s skin heats up, his cheeks and his neck beneath his collar. He wets his lips and smiles down at the counter. 

When Taecyeon pulls a box of noodles from the cabinet and dumps them into the boiled water, Junho knows he’s guessed the menu correctly: spaghetti. 

“It smells good,” he comments, when the aroma of tomatoes and herbs mixed together fills the room. He rests his chin in his palm and watches Taecyeon stir the sauce, where he hums in agreement. While it cools, Taecyeon pulls out a bottle of red wine and uncorks it, finds two glasses, and sets them down beside Junho. 

Junho watches the deep red liquid swirl inside the crystal clear glass, and his smile is giddy when Taecyeon places it in his hand. 

“Two,” Junho reasserts, lifting his wine to his lips. Taecyeon shakes his head with a pointed look. 

“You’re pushing it, babe.” He sighs in mock annoyance, filling his own glass. Junho hides his smile in his second sip, a fluttering in his stomach at the word that fell so easily from Taecyeon’s tongue. He definitely knows what he’s saying, now. Junho resists the urge to bounce in his seat. 

Taecyeon fixes their plates, and Junho gasps when he sees the artistic cradle of noodles smothered under a chunky red sauce, a sprig of some herb Junho thinks might be basil on top. 

“Wow,” he sets his wine down, and Taecyeon slides onto the stool next to him. 

“Bon appetit,” he claps his hands together, watching Junho dig in. 

“It’s good,” Junho compliments around his bite, and it is. Taecyeon grins, rolling his shoulders back with pride before he starts eating. 

Junho doesn’t realize how hungry he is until his plate is clean, and Taecyeon fixes him more. Taecyeon settles beside him and rests a hand on the back of Junho’s stool, turned towards him, watching him eat. Junho grins and reaches out to pull Taecyeon’s chair closer to his, so his knee brushes the outside of Junho’s thigh. 

Taecyeon’s smile is indulgent, and he finds the wine bottle and refills Junho’s dwindling glass. He doesn’t comment on Junho’s victorious smirk. His hand remains on the back of Junho’s seat, and when Junho pushes his empty second plate away and sips at his wine, he becomes all too aware of their proximity. He settles against Taecyeon’s arm, thrumming with the stir of an intoxication that is not purely alcoholic. 

“Mm, that was good.”

Taecyeon nods agreeingly, his eyes tracking over every part of Junho’s face. “You want to head to bed?”

Junho nods, slipping off his stool. He staggers a little as soon as his feet hit the floor, light-headed. Taecyeon chuckles, but his hand comes out to steady him, strong in the small of Junho’s back. 

“Maybe that second glass was a bad idea,” Taecyeon mutters, actual guilt in his voice. Junho shakes his head and leans against him, hungry for more of Taecyeon's touch. 

“I’m fine,” he presses on, and he is. He stares at Taecyeon’s mouth, then into his eyes. “Bedroom.”

“Right.”

The past few weeks, they’ve virtually been dating. They knock on each other’s doors like they don’t live in the same apartment, they text from their rooms. Junho works a nine-to-five but Taecyeon’s hours are long, more hectic, so they barely see each other. 

So Junho eats up the contact he’s getting, wrapping his arm about Taecyeon’s waist and pressing close when they finally make it to the master bedroom. _Our bedroom_ , Junho thinks lazily, sweeping his eyes over the made-up bed. They reach the foot of the bed, and Junho feels Taecyeon begin to draw away, just as he suspected Taecyeon would. 

“Wait.” He tightens his grip, and Taecyeon turns to peer down at him curiously. Junho swallows, suddenly shy. But he doesn’t want Taecyeon to leave. Not tonight. He exhales and takes a step forward, lighting both hands on Taecyeon’s abdomen. The muscles shift beneath his hands, and he smiles a little at the swift response Taecyeon probably couldn’t control. 

“Stay,” he whispers, motivated by the effect his touch has on Taecyeon. He lifts his chin so his lips brush against Taecyeon’s jaw. Taecyeon’s hands clutch him by the shoulders in surprise. Junho feels him suck in a breath under his palms. 

“You’re drunk,” he says, peering down at Junho in earnest, a battle in his eyes between concern, confusion, and the dark tendrils of arousal Junho can feel in the quickened breaths behind Taecyeon's black cotton shirt. 

“You’re hot,” he counters with a teasing lift of his eyebrow, sliding his hands over Taecyeon’s belly and taking handfuls of his shirt, using them as handholds to tug Taecyeon forward, their bodies flush. Taecyeon’s hands slip from Junho’s shoulders and squeeze around his biceps.

“We shouldn’t,” Taecyeon whispers, a pitiful attempt. Junho can feel how labored his breathing has become by the sharp rise and fall of his abdominal muscles beneath his hands. He smirks and leans in, kissing at the skin beneath Taecyeon’s collar, nuzzling the warmth rising from it and inhaling his scent. 

“Why not?” He asks, disappointment seeping into his voice. “You don’t want me?”

“I want you,” Taecyeon murmurs, his eyes lidded behind his frames. “Of course I want you,” his voice drops even more, so low Junho wouldn’t have heard unless they were as close as they are now, chest to chest.

“Good,” Junho smiles, pressing his lips to Taecyeon’s in a chaste kiss. He lifts his hands and pulls Taecyeon’s glasses from his face. “Can you see me?”

Taecyeon nods, and Junho folds the glasses and turns on steady feet to place them on the nightstand. He holds Taecyeon’s gaze as he moves back around to join him at the foot of the bed. Taecyeon slowly drops to sit at the edge of the mattress, nervous, as if he will run off at any second. Junho won't have that. 

He stops directly in front of him, and Taecyeon’s Adam’s apple bobs. His breathing is audible through his open mouth, and he waits, staring up at Junho in pure awe. Junho yanks the knot in his tie loose and tugs it from his collar, dropping it on the floor. 

He goes for his buttons next, taking the few steps forward to stand in the space between Taecyeon’s legs, slowly flicking each button open as he moves. Taecyeon tips his head back to follow with his eyes, hungry gaze sweeping over every stitch of bare skin Junho reveals. He pushes his shirt off his shoulders, and it joins his tie on the floor. 

Taecyeon inches forward, and the tip of his nose brushes Junho’s abdomen. Junho's muscles clench and he hisses, his hand shooting up to grab at Taecyeon’s hair. Taecyeon peers up at him, his eyes questioning, almost pleading, and Junho nods encouragingly. 

Shaky hands rise and touch the outsides of Junho’s thighs, and Junho exhales, moaning softly at the warm, constant rush of Taecyeon’s moist breaths just above his belly button. Junho inches forward, and he feels the hard nudge of Taecyeon’s erection growing against his leg. Taecyeon groans down below, squeezing at Junho’s thighs and opening his mouth against Junho’s skin. 

Junho throws his head back and moans, and Taecyeon’s hands tug at his belt buckle until it jingles open, and Junho just nods, moaning past a bitten lip as Taecyeon pushes his slacks down and they fall around his ankles. He’s barely stepped out of them before Taecyeon grasps him by a hamstring and pulls him forward, burying his face into Junho’s crotch. 

“Yes,” Junho gasps aloud, rolling his hips when he feels Taecyeon’s lips against his hard-on, hot through his spandex briefs. Taecyeon tugs him down eagerly, and Junho lowers himself onto his lap. He plants his knees on either side of Taecyeon’s thighs, following the hands that guide his hips so his erection presses right up against Taecyeon’s. They both groan, and Junho squeezes Taecyeon’s shoulders and slides his hands down, roughly undoing the buttons on Taecyeon’s shirt. 

Taecyeon curses against his mouth, kissing Junho messily as he rubs Junho all over, hands like fire on his back and sides, taking greedy handfuls of his ass. Junho slips his hands inside the opened halves of Taecyeon’s shirt and pulls back to see the tan skin roughened by gooseflesh, the pink flush covering his chest and the base of his neck. 

He bites his lip and rocks his hips, snaking his hand down between them, groaning and nipping at Taecyeon’s throat just as his finger swipes at the cool metal of Taecyeon’s belt— and then the room spins. 

He huffs when his back hits the mattress, when Taecyeon sheds his shirt completely and covers him with his warmth and his weight. Fingers tangle into Junho’s hair and tip his head to the side. Junho moans, disoriented, when Taecyeon’s mouth finds his neck and sucks, trailing down his throat and over his chest. His spine arches as a tongue circles one nipple and fingers brush the other, and he's mindless, unable to process anything but the sensations, but Taecyeon's body doing things to his body, and his body loving all of it. 

He digs his heels into the mattress and shudders as Taecyeon laps at each dip of his abs, pinning him down by his hips. 

“Taecyeon—” Junho sighs, moaning in pure delight when, finally, Taecyeon slips his thumbs beneath the waistband of his briefs and tugs them down, freeing him. They catch at his ankles and he wiggles his feet until Taecyeon gets them off and hurls them onto the floor, and they both go still for a moment. 

Junho’s chest heaves and he waits, while Taecyeon rears back just to look at him. Junho feels his face heat up even more under the scrutiny— he swallows and distracts himself with Taecyeon. He’s still wearing his pants but the rest of him is a mess— his hair is touseled beyond repair, and Junho can see red marks on his skin that he didn’t know he left behind. Taecyeon slides forward at last, and his eyes flick up to meet Junho’s just as his hand wraps around the hilt of Junho’s naked erection. 

Moisture gathers at the tip, and Junho’s head lolls back, an urgent noise leaving his chest. Taecyeon begins to stroke him firmly, and he situates himself between Junho's legs, his skin hot against the insides of Junho's calves. He gives one long tug that Junho’s hips follow with a hiss, his ass leaving the mattress and his fingers curling about the sheets. 

Junho bites down on his bottom lip and turns blindly to one side, his eyes pinched shut when he feels Taecyeon’s breath at the head of his cock. He cants his hips upwards, and Taecyeon squeezes him once, and then lets go. Junho opens his eyes and draws up onto his elbows, confused. He stares down the length of his heaving stomach as Taecyeon slides his hands beneath his legs and lifts, hoisting Junho’s thighs onto his shoulders. 

Junho moans, twitching violently when Taecyeon turns to kiss his inner thigh. His head falls back onto his shoulders, sighing as Taecyeon nuzzles back up the inside of his thigh, against his sack, and licks up the underside of his cock until he stops and closes his mouth around the tip. 

Junho squeezes his eyes shut and shouts, and it’s too much. All he can feel is heat, a mixture of Taecyeon’s breath and his saliva as the moist warmth of his mouth takes him in, literally consuming him. He moans raggedly, burying his face into the mattress. Taecyeon sighs around him, pinning his hips still, and all the air leaves Junho’s lungs as he draws upwards until Junho’s almost out of his mouth, and then sucks him again completely, building a steady pace. 

Junho curses, writhing as much as he can, squeezing his thighs around Taecyeon’s neck and pressing his toes into Taecyeon’s back. His breathing is harsh when he opens his eyes and lifts his head to watch. The sight drives his hips upwards uselessly, but Taecyeon holds him down expertly. His hand idly drops down to stroke at the outside of Junho’s thigh, and his dark gaze meets Junho’s just as his mouth recedes and Junho’s cock slips, wet and shiny into the cool air. 

He watches Taecyeon turn his face and press it to his inner thigh again, kissing it and biting a chunk of his flesh into his mouth, sucking it, a corner of his mouth upturned in an unmistakable smirk. Junho sighs and slips his fingers into Taecyeon’s hair and pushes his head back down, his own back returning to the sheets as Taecyeon sucks him back into his mouth like he wants, firm gripped and tight lipped. 

The heat is almost gone completely and his heart pangs at the loss, until it appears again as a searing lathe over his tip. His hips jerk sharply in Taecyeon’s hands, his own hands stroking over the hollowed edges of Taecyeon’s cheeks. 

Taecyeon’s grip on his hips slackens, and Junho feels the tickle of his fingers on his wrists, drawing his hands away from Taecyeon’s hair. He pushes Junho’s hands down onto the mattress and laces their fingers together. Junho squeezes them, and revels in the new freedom, rolling his hips smoothly. Taecyeon’s ensuing moan vibrates around him. 

Junho wrinkles his nose as the heat starts to climb, building to a burn he needs to be rid of. His thrusts grow more shallow, his grip on Taecyeon’s fingers tighter, and then his hips rock, hard and fast until they go still and he comes in Taecyeon's mouth with a breathless moan that tears right out of his throat. 

His mind is fuzzy, coming down. His limbs feel dislocated, and he isn't sure if his eyes are open or shut. His cock tingles with the sensation of Taecyeon swallowing and then withdrawing, panting against his inner thigh. His fingers are numb in Taecyeon's, and they remain limp when Taecyeon's hands leave his and he crawls up the length of Junho's spent body. Junho's eyes flutter open, and Taecyeon appears above him, mussed hair and damp skin, lips red and swollen. A series of slow chuckles leaves Junho's chest, and he lifts his weak arms to hug Taecyeon around the middle. 

"Did you like that?" Taecyeon asks him, pressing a kiss to Junho's cheek. 

"Mm," is all Junho can say. He nods, letting his eyes slip shut again before they open and focus on Taecyeon's face. He unwinds an arm from around Taecyeon's nude back and drops it between their hips, pressing his palm flat to the front of Taecyeon's trousers. His fly is already open, so Junho slips his hand inside, intrigued. Taecyeon hisses against his neck, hips twitching. Junho feels him with curious, seeking fingers— his boxers are wet, and he finds the firm outline of Taecyeon's semi-hard cock behind the fabric. Junho finds Taecyeon's gaze sharply, furrowing his brow. "Did you...?"

Taecyeon's lips tug upwards and he blushes, his jaw moving in a brief nod. Junho feels his eyes widen, and he presses the heel of his palm more confidently against Taecyeon's flagging erection. His mind comes back to life, and it races, his pulse starts to pick back up just at the thought— Taecyeon jerking himself off and coming, with Junho in his mouth. He bites his bottom lip, wishing he'd had the sense enough to see it. 

"I could... you know," _return the favor_ , Junho wants to say, but he wouldn't know what to do, no matter how badly he wants to. Taecyeon shakes his head dismissively and drops his face into the crook of Junho's neck to kiss his cheek again. 

"Later," he whispers, and Junho sighs, a little disappointed. Impatient. He turns, dragging his lips across Taecyeon's earlobe, pulling his hand from inside Taecyeon's opened slacks and pushing suggestively at his waistband. Taecyeon sighs against his shoulder and draws up onto his knees, pushing them off so he's in his underwear. Junho stops him before he can lie back down. 

"Those too," he demands, reaching out and touching the cinched band at Taecyeon's hips. Taecyeon snorts, and turns to pull the comforter over the two of them. He smirks at Junho as he moves around underneath it, and his hands finally emerge to throw his boxers over the edge of the bed. Junho rolls his eyes and presses close to him, sighing when he feels Taecyeon's nude skin against his own. "You're an idiot," he remarks, pushing his fingers into Taecyeon's hair and pulling his face nearer to his. Their lips brush, and Junho slips his tongue into Taecyeon's mouth, moaning when he feels the rough stroke of Taecyeon's in return. 

Taecyeon's arm folds around his lower back, pulling Junho on top of him. Junho smiles, and burrows his face into Taecyeon's neck, happy that they are, for once, in the same bed.


	21. Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After _after_ the trial.

The man shoots Junho through the back of his skull. Taecyeon hears his own voice— warped, screaming, but distant, like it’s not coming from his own throat. 

He knows it is a dream. Glossy, too-red blood flows around Junho’s head, and instead of on the courtroom’s grainy screen Taecyeon sees it all up close, in high definition. Junho lies at Taecyeon’s feet, eyes wide and staring with the blindness of the dead, and Taecyeon cannot move. He glances up, and the man in black who holds the gun lowers it to his side, jerks his face upwards to meet Taecyeon’s gaze. And then he smiles. 

_Soft. Cloud._ Those are the first thoughts Taecyeon has as he emerges from this image. The man’s smile fades from his memory until it has nearly dissolved, just a slim thread his mind can hardly grasp: cold eyes, lips an uneven slant across a face Taecyeon doesn’t recognize. 

Sunlight shines pink through his heavy eyelids, and he turns into it, eager for something other than the gnawing sensation in his chest. He stretches an arm out, and his fingertips catch smooth skin. His palm molds to warm, firm flesh. Alive. 

And for the first time in forever, he opens his eyes and sees, with a whole, hammering heart— that this is his bed, and Junho is here. 

He blinks himself fully awake, and the events of last night rush back to him in a ruthless current of colors and textures, tastes and sensations that quell the horror of his dream. His stomach gives a little leap. Junho suddenly makes a noise next to him, and Taecyeon turns his head to watch Junho flop over onto his belly, facing away from him and pushing his hands under his pillow. 

Taecyeon reaches up and strokes the soft hair at the base of Junho’s hairline, slips his fingers down his nape. Junho’s shoulder curls up to his ear, and he purrs like a cat but makes no movements otherwise. Taecyeon smiles, ghosting his fingertips over his skin, listening for a few seconds to the even breaths that tell him Junho is still asleep. 

He sits up with a sigh, and peers around the grey, black, and white accents furnishing the bedroom. It’s September. He hasn’t woken up in here since March, and everything has an eerie, unfamiliar touch to it, especially under the glow of mid-morning light. He slips out from beneath the covers quietly and then makes his way to the bathroom, rubbing his eyes. 

He brushes his teeth and showers quickly, washing off the stickiness that tugs painfully at skin that hasn’t been sticky in a while, at least not upon waking. He finds a pair of his own boxers still folded in the bedroom dresser and pulls them on. He’s just lifted the duvet as sneakily as possible when Junho’s head shoots up.

Taecyeon freezes, wide-eyed, sheepish grin in place. Junho squints through small, sleepy eyes at him beneath a confused brow and adorably disheveled hair, and in less than a second his face smooths into a delighted smile that makes Taecyeon’s stomach flutter.

“Hey,” Junho mutters, sleep-husky. He rubs a hand down the side of his face and props himself upright on his elbows as Taecyeon slips back into the warmth of the covers and Junho’s body.

“Good morning,” Taecyeon whispers, and he leans over his side and kisses Junho’s lips. Junho’s smile returns as Taecyeon draws away to look at him, his lazy eyelids and content smile taking Taecyeon’s breath away. Junho comes back in for another kiss, and when they part he catches Taecyeon’s forearm with gentle, but insistent fingers. 

“Can you grab my phone?”

Taecyeon snorts, dropping his head onto Junho’s shoulder in mild disbelief. _Romantic_ , he thinks with a smirk, but he gets up anyway. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” Junho calls as Taecyeon enters the hallway. He finds Junho’s phone in the discarded suit jacket half-draped on the sofa. Junho is sitting up against the stack of pillows at the headboard when Taecyeon returns with a victorious grin. 

“Found it.”

Junho’s face brightens, and Taecyeon sets it in his waiting hand. “I love you,” Junho says, not looking up from the screen. Taecyeon falters at the words— and he hopes Junho doesn’t notice. He knows it’s a joke. He knows. He blinks and snorts a little uneasily and climbs back in bed, watching Junho type and swipe away. 

“I know,” he remarks, settling on his back. He stares at the ceiling as Junho shifts next to him and lies belly-down again, phone propped in front of his face on a pillow. Taecyeon narrows his eyes. Junho asked him to stay _last night_. He didn’t say _stay in bed in the morning. Move back in._ None of those. Taecyeon furrows his brow and turns onto his side to face Junho. 

Junho is biting his lip, totally consumed in whatever is on his phone, and Taecyeon’s gut stirs with the familiar pang of _jealousy_. If this only lasts for today, or the next thirty minutes, he’s going to be greedy while he can. He drops his palm flat between Junho’s shoulder blades, and Junho’s reaction is instant— a hitch of his breath, a muscle bouncing beneath Taecyeon’s hand.

Taecyeon sighs quietly, pleased, relieved, and follows his hand with his eyes as he strokes it down the slope of Junho’s spine, halting where the comforter cuts across the small of his back. 

“Mm.” 

Taecyeon’s eyes flick up at the sound, the way Junho’s muscles tighten under his heavy hand. Taecyeon pushes the comforter to the side and off, and the high arch of Junho’s ass is laid bare in the gold and white wash of morning light. 

Taecyeon grows rigid in his boxers just at the sight of it, and he bites the inside of his mouth when he feels the warm skin under his palm. Junho licks his lips and angles his face in Taecyeon’s direction. Taecyeon’s mouth quirks with mischief when their eyes meet. 

“ _Fine_ ,” Junho huffs with a dramatic roll of his eyes, heat emanating from every pore in his face. He throws his phone down with ears the color of cherries. “I’m all yours.”

His eyes betray something Taecyeon thought he would never see reflected in them again— and those three words muttered in passing mean almost nothing. 

They join once again at the lips in slow, idle kisses. Taecyeon squeezes Junho’s ass cheek, uses his hold to pull Junho closer to him, all that nude flesh hot against him through his boxers, hardening like him, wanting. Every cell in Taecyeon’s body rages with pleasure, lust, and the urge to go further. Junho makes a noise in his throat and tugs at Taecyeon’s damp hair, his weight heavy and purposeful as he pushes Taecyeon down onto his back, and Taecyeon goes, happily—

Until Junho’s phone rings. 

Junho tears his mouth away with an obscene _smack_ of their lips, and he glares down at the phone, eyes dark with arousal and all heavy breaths. Taecyeon drops his head back, exasperated, while Junho gropes for the phone and rests half his weight on Taecyeon’s chest. Taecyeon props one hand behind his head and flicks his tongue out over his lips, panting as Junho answers. 

“Hello? Oh, hey Minjun.”

Taecyeon snorts, and he drops his opposite hand over his eyes. “Hi Minjun,” he calls in a loud, dull voice. Junho’s glare flashes onto him, and Taecyeon cowers with a sly smile. 

“ _Great_ , now he—” _Now he knows we slept in the same bed last night_ , Junho starts at Taecyeon, but suddenly Minjun’s voice explodes from the speaker, high-pitched. Junho cringes. He holds the phone half a foot from his ear, and waits until Minjun calms down before placing it back. 

Junho lowers his face, but Taecyeon sees the smirk taking shape on his full lips. Pride burns in Taecyeon’s stomach next to all that arousal. 

Junho drops his head back, peering up absently as he listens. “Yeah, we’re in bed.” He admits reluctantly, and at the smile that wanders onto his face, Taecyeon wonders what Minjun is saying. He only gets more curious when Junho gives an _uh-huh_ for yes, _uh-uh_ for no, and murmurs words that are purposely vague. He turns away and shuts his eyes. He knows when he’s not part of a conversation.

“...in the newspaper? No, I didn’t see it.” Junho drops his forehead onto Taecyeon’s chest with a heavy sigh. His free hand draws little circles on Taecyeon’s belly with the tip of a pointer finger. Taecyeon mentally shakes his head. The stupid reporters were probably outside their building still. Junho suddenly lifts his head, and Taecyeon opens his eyes, interest piqued again. 

“No, I told you already,” Junho complains, “we can’t have dinner this weekend. I have the camping trip for work. Dinner has to be next week.”

 _Shit_. Taecyeon’s eyes widen a bit and he cringes inwardly. Minjun isn’t the only one who forgot about the trip. 

“Yeah, next weekend. Ok. Bye.”

“Byeeeee—” Taecyeon starts to yell. Junho silences him with a hand over his mouth, and turns the phone off with the other. Taecyeon chuckles behind Junho’s palm. Junho lifts warning brows at him, and Taecyeon nods, relenting. Junho sighs and pulls his hand away, rising up onto his knees. 

Taecyeon reaches out to touch what he can— the column of one firm thigh, the small of Junho’s back. Junho hovers over him, a thoughtful glint in his eyes as they draw a pattern over Taecyeon’s face and drop somewhere around his chest. 

“I wish I didn’t have to go on this trip,” he mumbles, lighting his fingertips back onto Taecyeon’s chest, a faint tickle as they gently rove over Taecyeon’s skin. 

“So don’t,” Taecyeon offers with a shrug, nudging at Junho’s back until Junho drops fully on top of him.

“I have to,” Junho pouts, and swivels his head around to peer in the direction of the closet. “I don’t have any hiking boots, though.”

Taecyeon is sure Junho _does_ have some. He sniffs, but leaves it at that. “We can go get some,” he says instead, because he knows what Junho means is that he wants _new_ ones. “And all the other stuff you need. When do you leave?”

Junho turns back to meet his eyes, biting his bottom lip. “Tomorrow. 6 A.M.”

Taecyeon groans, disappointed. He wanted the weekend for the two of them. He took off work today since it was after the trial. Tomorrow— Friday— would have given them a near holiday. 

“Well,” he sighs, deciding to make the most of it. “I’ll drive you.” 

That earns him a smile, and a kiss.

"One more thing," Junho adds, as he withdraws. Taecyeon hums his indication to continue, resting his lips along the smooth line of Junho's jaw. "The reporters," he carries on, voice carrying a tinge of irritation. "Call your dad so they can go away."

Taecyeon grins secretly and meets the stern look in Junho's eyes. "Of course," he says, smug. He loves being right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for sticking around during my hiatus! My schedule is a little more tricky now, but please expect more to come!


	22. Twenty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taecyeon and Junho go shopping.

Sex changes everything. Taecyeon doesn’t know why this surprises and even unsettles him— it was this way before, too, before they got married. Before all of this. But as he watches Junho turn one dark brown hiking boot over in his hand, in the hand that touched him just a little over an hour ago, sex is all he can think about. 

He sighs, itching to put his own hands on Junho. He traces his eyes over the baggy gray sweater Junho wears, the slouchy folds hiding that body from him. It irks him, but Taecyeon _can_ make out the shape of Junho’s thighs in those skin-tight blue jeans he watched him tug on this morning. He swallows, and draws his gaze up once again to Junho’s frowning lips, his focused eyes. 

“I don’t like these,” Junho mumbles, and Taecyeon nods. 

“Me either,” he comments, not caring about the shoes in the slightest. Junho’s face doesn’t change to imply whether or not he heard it. He drops the shoe back where he found it, his upper lip curled in distaste, eyes narrowed and judging. Taecyeon follows him wordlessly, memorizing the way Junho’s sweater hangs on the width of his shoulders, the loose slope of the collar low around his neck. 

He wants to be back in that bed again, kissing those lips and biting that neck, doing more of what they did this morning, more of what they did last night.

“Taecyeon,” Junho’s sharp tone snaps him out of it. His hand instinctively goes for his wallet, and excitement flares in his stomach at the thought that Junho’s ready to leave because _home_ means _bed_ and _bed_ means— But then he sees Junho’s eyes: they are still narrowed. Directly on him. Scowling. Annoyed.

 _Crap_ , Taecyeon thinks, and he clears his throat guiltily. Junho sets down one grey boot, and Taecyeon’s eyes flick down to the pair currently on Junho’s feet. They are just alike. He peers back up at Junho’s face and grins. Junho holds his gaze, eyes still blazing with irritation. 

“I can literally feel you breathing on my neck,” he says matter-of-factly, cocking his head to one side. “Back up a little bit.”

“Oh,” Taecyeon mutters. He takes exactly one step back, sliding his hands into his denims’ pockets. He glances around— no one is looking at them, except one salesman that looks overly eager. He glances back at Junho. The shells of his ears are pink, and his shoulders are tense. “Sorry,” Taecyeon adds lamely. 

Junho shrugs, tearing his eyes away awkwardly. His attention wanders over the boots in front of him. “Go look at something,” he suggests, voice firm but detached. The corners of his mouth droop in just the slightest bit of a frown. “Don’t you like shoes?”

“Not really,” Taecyeon sighs, peering around. He doesn’t really _dis_ like them, either. He just knows he needs them. But he doesn’t say any of that. 

Junho casts him a disapproving look, and his mouth quirks up into a smirk just before he turns and moves to another display table. Taecyeon licks his lips and gives him about a foot of space before following, this time. He snorts when Junho picks up a pair of shiny black boots with gold spikes all over the front. He cringes— they look like weapons, not shoes. 

“So, is this a runway or a hiking trail?” He grins, leaning against the table. Junho rolls his eyes, flipping the boot over to peer at the price tag on the bottom. Taecyeon sniffs, perfectly aware he’s being ignored. The yellow-white light overhead strikes Junho’s skin and sets his black hair aglow, and Taecyeon fleetingly wonders: if he suddenly dragged his nose up the side of Junho’s neck, would Junho hit him? 

“I think I saw a sporting goods store back the way we came in,” Junho remarks, glancing down at the boots in disdain. Taecyeon blinks, peering down at the shoes and then back at Junho.

“You don’t like those?” He points a finger at the scary boots, and Junho shakes his head and turns around, which is weird, because Taecyeon is sure Junho _did_ like them, but he doesn’t push the subject. 

“No,” Junho shakes his head, not looking at him as he moves towards the exit into the rest of the mall. As they pass the food court Taecyeon’s stomach tugs him in the direction where he smells salty fries and greasy burgers, but Junho walks purposefully towards whatever store he wants to go to next. 

“We could stop to eat,” Taecyeon calls out to him, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. Junho tilts his chin to look up at him, and in the way his eyes wander from side to side, Taecyeon sees him considering the information before tossing it aside. 

“Let’s go in here first,” he dismisses, and Taecyeon has no choice but to follow him. 

Once they get to the sporting goods store, Junho’s mood seems to improve. He tries on a few pairs of hiking boots before settling for the most expensive ones. He somehow weaves his way around until he finds an entire wardrobe of outdoor clothes, and Taecyeon has to bite his tongue to keep himself from reminding Junho that the trip is two days, not two months. 

Junho smiles and pushes his bags into Taecyeon’s hands, springily stepping onto the escalator leading to the second floor of the sporting store. He turns on the step above Taecyeon and leans back with one palm on the railing. Taecyeon cannot help but smile up at him. 

“Chansung will want snacks,” Junho thinks out loud, and Taecyeon’s grin slides off of his face. 

“Chansung?” He repeats, furrowing his brows. Junho turns away and steps off the escalator once they reach the top. He nods, nonchalant as Taecyeon falls into step next to him. 

“He’s my cabin-mate.”

Taecyeon blinks, and then he blinks again. “Oh,” he says, and pushes a smile onto his face despite the muscle twitching sporadically at the corner of his mouth. “Good.”

“They’re providing dinner and breakfast and all of that, but we won’t have any snacks,” Junho informs him, his gaze upwards at the signs overhead that point to the different sections. Taecyeon tucks the receipt in his hand into one of the bags holding Junho’s new boots and clothes, and lowers the bags to his sides. 

He spies the _Food and Sports Drinks_ sign at the same time Junho does, but he has to pick up his pace to keep up as Junho heads that way. He itches to hold Junho’s hand. 

“Should I get a board game?”

Taecyeon watches Junho flit over to an area cordoned off from the wide array of trail mixes and energy bars. Two tables display knick knacks— puzzles, games, and weird contraptions Taecyeon absently finds intriguing, but he has no idea what they do. He pulls his attention away from the toys, suddenly aggravated. 

“Can’t Chansung buy some of this stuff?” He knows how he sounds, but he can’t help it. It sits in his chest, a tight ball of dread. 

Junho laughs, completely missing Taecyeon’s tone as he fingers the edge of a game. “I feel bad,” he says, that last syllable drawn out and sorrowful, and Taecyeon narrows his eyes because Junho actually sounds like he _does_ feel bad.

“Chansung does so much for me already. He helps me out at work even though I’m his boss, and he takes care of my Johnny and Wolie since _some_ people—” Junho turns an accusing stare onto Taecyeon and he instantly recoils, “—don’t like cats.”

Taecyeon clears his throat and gapes at the back of Junho’s head, bumping his thigh against the side of a table when Junho maneuvers to get to another game.

“This one looks fun,” he stares at the packaging, dark irises moving back and forth as he reads the description on the box. Taecyeon glares at the game from over Junho’s shoulder, spiteful. He hates cats. 

They can be cute— when they’re not terrifying— with their claws, and their gleaming eyes, the way they prowl around like there’s some sort of joke _they_ are in on, but _you_ definitely are not. The claws.

“I think I’ll get this one,” Junho announces, tucking the game under one arm, chin up and determined as he moves towards the snacks. 

Taecyeon insists on carrying everything Junho buys to the car, and he speeds past the reporters they see waiting for them in the parking lot. Junho is silent in the elevator, in the hallway. He moves slowly into the living room as Taecyeon sets everything down on the floor, his brow furrowed. He doesn’t look Taecyeon’s way as he drifts towards the sofa set in front of the blacked out tv. 

Taecyeon’s stomach churns. He follows after Junho’s retreating back and wraps his arms around his waist from behind, hugging him. He presses his face into the crook of Junho’s neck. 

“Are you mad at me?”

Junho snorts, his hands folding over Taecyeon’s. “ _No_ ,” he turns to peer at Taecyeon over his shoulder, and Taecyeon lifts his head to meet his eyes. He feels the need to apologize for what was— _is_ — running through his head. _Could he know?_ He wonders, feeling his lips draw into a solemn line. Junho was always good at reading his mind, much better than Taecyeon could ever read his. 

Junho’s tongue appears, bubble-gum pink, over the darker rose of his mouth. 

His full lips are shiny, and Taecyeon kisses them, sighing and winding his arms tighter around Junho’s waist. Junho’s eyelids flutter in the aftermath, and his breaths are heavy when he opens his eyes to peer questioningly into Taecyeon’s. 

“We were in the paper. Online,” is all he says, and Taecyeon furrows his brows in confusion. His memory lingers briefly on Junho’s phone call with Minjun earlier this morning. 

He chuckles. “No one at the mall recognized us,” he tries to reassure him. 

“I saw it,” Junho turns to face the wall across from them, to the darkened hallway leading to the kitchen. Taecyeon pulls a confused face. When did Junho even get the chance to see their pictures in a paper? One of Junho's eyebrows quirks with irony. “It was mostly about you and your family.” His eyes return to Taecyeon’s for an instant, and then they drop, somewhere around Taecyeon’s chin, and his voice is hollow when he continues. “Your money.”

Taecyeon sighs, peering intently at Junho’s face. He can see where this is going. He shrugs. “So what?”

Junho takes his turn to sigh, and a dozen different emotions cross his face, only one of which Taecyeon can read. It is the exact reason Taecyeon did not want _who they are_ made public, because it was a good, heartfelt story when no one knew the name of the man who lost his memory in that gas station that night. But when people found out whose son that man was married to? 

Taecyeon had an idea of what tone the media would use, how ugly a spin they could put on it when they added _money_ and _sex_ and _reputation_ to the mix, and the _shame_ that Junho would feel, seeing those headlines and those photos. And that emotion has no place on Junho’s face, in his head. 

Taecyeon pushes a foot forward, forcing Junho to walk ahead of him towards the couch. Junho relents, letting himself be directed towards it. Taecyeon loosens his hold just enough so Junho can turn around in his arms. Junho doesn’t meet his eyes, but he slides his hands up from the insides of Taecyeon’s elbows, and the touch reminds Taecyeon that Junho is human, and real. And that he doesn’t need protecting.

“So,” Junho mutters, his voice low, pensive. And then his eyes flick up to meet Taecyeon’s, devious. “How rich _are_ you?”

Taecyeon chokes on a bitter laugh. He was not prepared for this. 

“What?”

Junho’s fingers circle around his biceps, giving them quick, tender squeezes. The muscles twitch reflexively under the touch. Junho tilts his head to the side and bares his neck, eyes wide, coquettish and provoking in that conflicting, sensual innocence he commands so well, and has Taecyeon grow hard right where he stands. 

“Well, the articles said you’re a millionaire.” He exhales, and his breath is warm on Taecyeon’s jaw. It and the light massage on his arms send arousal pooling, hot and sure behind Taecyeon’s navel. Junho leans in, and the tip of his nose is cool on Taecyeon’s throat, and those hands wind their way up to rest on Taecyeon’s shoulders.

“Are you, like, rent-a-yacht rich?” his hot breath ghosts beneath the collar of Taecyeon's hoodie, and every pore in Taecyeon's skin snaps shut as a shiver tumbles through his vertebrae.

Taecyeon draws Junho in closer with his hands in the small of Junho’s back, dipping down needily for a kiss. But Junho bows backwards, just out of reach. Taecyeon twists the soft fabric of Junho’s sweater into one hand, and lowers the other around Junho’s ass, smirking down into his face, giving him what he's asking for. 

Junho laughs inaudibly, but it pounds in his chest, pressed tightly now against Taecyeon’s, and Taecyeon decides to join in. 

“More like _buy_ -a-yacht rich,” He utters against Junho’s mouth, a hot, ugly flare of conceit rushing through him. Junho gasps, his lips dropping open to show just how impressed he is. He winds his arms fully around Taecyeon’s neck and tilts his chin up, his parted lips brushing against Taecyeon’s, a provocation Taecyeon doesn’t waste.

He kisses Junho hard, angry and jealous because he should be the only one doing _so much_ for Junho. He’ll do it all— everything and anything. 

"So," Junho manages between kisses, hot hands running up and down Taecyeon's chest, around his back, down to squeeze his ass. His pupils are black and teasing when he smirks up at Taecyeon. "You're used to getting whatever you want."

"Whatever I want," Taecyeon agrees, his own blood pounding in his ears. Junho's hands on his ass tug his hips right into his, reacquaints their erections through the layers of clothing keeping them apart.

"What do you want now?" Junho moans into his mouth and starts to drop, tugging him down towards the sofa. He stares up at Taecyeon through half-lidded eyes. A low, tempting chuckle falls from his chest, and he crawls backwards on his palms, moving up along the sofa until his head falls on the armrest. Taecyeon cocks his head, fascinated and turned on— because after everything Junho has been through, he still likes his little games. The roles, the play. 

He tugs his own sweatshirt over his head and throws it on the floor, and Junho’s eyes follow the trail of skin he has just exposed, hungry. What Junho wants is plainly obvious, and— Taecyeon reaches down and presses his palm against the visible bulge straining in his own jeans, shortening his breaths— what he wants is, too. He lets his eyes rove down the length of Junho’s body, where gravity tugs his sweater tight across his chest and abdomen, where the hem rides up to show skin, and the play of light and shadow falls in the dip of his pelvis. 

Taecyeon wants to mark that line with his tongue— he wants to put his mouth all over Junho, tasting and laying claim. He drops one knee down near Junho’s thigh and lifts Junho’s sweater higher onto his chest. Junho writhes and takes a huge breath into his lungs, his ribcage visibly expanding with it. He peers up at Taecyeon through eyes that are almost black with growing lust. 

Taecyeon traces his fingers down the middle of Junho’s stomach, and Junho groans pitifully under the light touch before biting the sound off. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, all breath as Taecyeon’s fingertips hover over the button on his jeans. Taecyeon doesn’t answer— not with words. He undoes Junho’s jeans and zipper, keeping his eyes trained on every microexpression in Junho’s face. The tight denim peels away from Junho’s thighs and calves like another layer of skin. 

Junho grasps at the leather couch pillows beneath him, wetting his lips and sighing, fighting to keep his eyes open as his bare legs sway closed to one side, exposed abdomen rising and falling with each hurried breath he takes. Taecyeon kneels down completely and inches forward, sliding his hand under Junho’s calf and catching him under the knee to pull his legs apart. He begins to slide between them when Junho gasps again. 

But this time is different. 

The facade shatters into pieces around them, and Junho sits upright. His sweater falls back down to cover the muscles braced in his abdomen. He pushes his hands against Taecyeon’s chest, effectively blocking him out. Taecyeon pauses, thrown. Junho stares up at him, mouth open, eyes wide in a muddle of surprise, confusion, and arousal. Taecyeon relaxes his grip, pulls his hand away like he’s touched fire. 

“Is this okay?” He cautions, sitting back on his heels. Junho stares up at him, a million thoughts clearly racing through his head. Almost a minute passes before his chin jerks in a small nod. Taecyeon waits, and watches him— but Junho is so hard to read. Junho slowly drops his hands, and he sluggishly relaxes, shoulders loosening beneath his sweater. 

“Are you sure?” Taecyeon has to incline his head to find Junho’s wavering gaze. Junho nods again, more firmly this time, swallowing. He lifts a hand and cards it through his hair, squeezing the strands and shutting his eyes with a long exhale. He opens his eyes, meeting Taecyeon’s stare, and drops his hands. 

“Yeah,” Junho says, his voice steady. He shifts his hips and plants his foot on the outside of Taecyeon’s knee, looking Taecyeon in the eye with an intensity that sends heat swirling in his groin, an unmistakable invitation. Taecyeon drops his gaze back down over Junho’s jaw, his throat, and then back up to his eyes.  


He doesn’t hesitate to move forward, but he is slow and deliberate as he pushes his weight onto Junho, his hips between Junho’s spread thighs. Junho sighs, his hands firm on Taecyeon’s sides, almost squeezing the flesh there in his effort to pull Taecyeon closer. 

Taecyeon bears his hips down into Junho’s, and even through his jeans he can feel Junho is still as hard as he is, that he still wants this. Junho hisses at the contact, and his eyes dance with wonder, disbelief. 

“More,” he demands shakily, grinding his erection up against Taecyeon’s. Taecyeon releases a sound that’s almost strangled in his throat, dropping his face into Junho’s neck as he complies. They move against each other at an unhurried, but vigorous pace. Taecyeon groans against Junho’s skin, and holds himself up with one arm as he pulls back to push the other under Junho’s sweater. 

His fingertip brushes over a hardened nipple, and he peers down between their bodies to see the obvious swell of Junho’s cock in his briefs, pressed tightly to the tented denim over his own. He feels suffocated and trapped in there, and he begins to reach down to relieve himself. 

“Let me,” Junho pushes his hand away, panting hot against Taecyeon’s face as he jerks the button and zipper open. Taecyeon struggles to breathe, uselessly lighting his fingers on the backs of Junho’s palms as Junho shoves Taecyeon’s jeans off of his hips. “I want to see,” Junho whispers into Taecyeon’s ear, just to taunt him even more. 

Taecyeon exhales, meaning to say something. But the words evaporate before a solid thought can even manifest. Without hesitation, Junho slips his hand into the button front fly, and the trickle of cool air on Taecyeon’s sensitive skin sends his teeth into his bottom lip. He almost loses it, then, when Junho’s palm falls directly on him, wraps around him, and Junho sighs against his cheek.

He tugs Taecyeon out of his boxers, and no matter how many times they’ve done this Taecyeon’s chest aches with the urge to cover himself up, to hide his face. He shuts his eyes and swallows, his abs and back muscles burning just keeping himself from dropping onto Junho and thrusting against him until he comes. He hears the wet flick of Junho’s tongue over his own lips, and he bites his own lip to keep a moan at bay. 

“Hands and knees, huh?” Junho hums into his ear, working his hand up Taecyeon’s length in one slow, tortuous stroke. The words conjure the vivid visual in Taecyeon’s mind, clear as day, and he remembers it with all of his senses, touch most of all. Pre-ejaculate gathers at his tip, and Junho’s palm squeezes him again from root to tip, and Taecyeon exhales harshly as Junho's damp palm reverses, drawing all that wetness back down his shaft, over and over. 

Taecyeon opens his eyes and finds Junho staring at him, curious, intrigued. Junho drops his gaze from Taecyeon’s wide eyes to watch the course of his own hand just as Taecyeon gives his sight over to darkness again. He doesn’t need to see what he can feel— Junho’s strong grip around the thickest part of him, a slow, experimental massage.

He remembers himself, his task, and it takes everything he has to grip Junho’s wrist and stop him. Junho gapes up at him but complies, touching Taecyeon’s shoulders instead. Taecyeon uses the opportunity to pin Junho’s hips to the sofa, eliciting a sharp groan from Junho’s chest. 

He sighs deeply, places his hands on either side of Junho’s waist, and starting from his black briefs, he rubs his palms up, up Junho’s sides, taking the sweater with them until Junho helps him tug it off completely. 

He kisses Junho on the mouth, all tongue and biting lips, nips his way down his neck, inhaling the heady scent of him when his nose dips into Junho’s belly button. Junho’s fingers weave their way into his hair, and Taecyeon groans, mouthing at Junho’s flesh, rubbing his hands up and down the outsides of Junho’s thighs.

Junho’s fingers tug painfully at Taecyeon’s hair, until Taecyeon draws back upwards and aligns their chests, and brings their mouths back together. He tastes each moan and breath that leaves Junho’s lips, and sees stars as Junho hips rock urgently beneath his. Taecyeon bends to draw his tongue over Junho’s jaw, his throat, his collarbones, kneading his asscheeks with eager, mindless fingers. 

“How do you know—” Junho cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, his back arching off of the sofa as Taecyeon grinds down into him, hard— “exactly where to touch me?”

Taecyeon hums into Junho’s skin, lips brushing Junho’s neck and behind his ear as he answers, “I’m gifted.”

Junho shudders, and the thighs framing Taecyeon’s hips close in on him and squeeze. Junho pulls at his hair and combs gentle fingers through it, soothing his scalp. Taecyeon turns into Junho's wrist and kisses him there, his chest clenching at the sweetness of the gesture. He feels wanted, appreciated, and loved all at once, even though none of those words have left Junho’s lips. 

He doesn’t need them to. 

He needs to infiltrate, to occupy, until Junho clutches onto him with his arms and his legs, with his hands and his heart. Until he screams Taecyeon’s name and his eyes roll back into white. Until tomorrow, the next day, and every moment after, this image of Taecyeon on him, these sensations, are all Junho has to keep himself sane during the struggle to exist in the bleak world outside of their bedroom— until he can come home, where the real thing awaits.


	23. Twenty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stop it, Doojoon.

Taecyeon _bit_ him. 

Junho first catches sight of the mark as he changes into his outdoor clothes in the cabin bathroom. It's livid red on pale, right on that thin stretch of skin where his clavicle begins. Cold air sweeps in from the window, the bite stings, and his heart pounds in his chest. 

V-necks are all he packed for the trip, and the black one skirts just below the hollow of his collarbone. The bitemark stands out in sharp relief in the grey light of morning. He doesn’t remember when it happened... The morning passed in a blur. 

He stirred a little before five a.m., Taecyeon’s skin bare against his own, the shared heat between their bodies dissipating as his mind began to clear. Daylight. And then he shot up in a frenzy, somehow managing to shower and get dressed. Taecyeon watched him from his seat on the sofa, rubbing his eyes, the picture of innocence as Junho stuffed whatever things he could find into his duffel. Any pain had never registered, frantic as Junho was to be on time to meet everyone else at the charter bus station.

Outside, in the dewy fall morning surrounded by the people he works with, Junho gnaws at his bottom lip, abuzz with nervous energy. His eyes dart around and he tugs the zipper on his windbreaker higher, as high as it can go, so his collar itches underneath his chin. The wilderness guide’s words flow in and out one ear, and the hickey throbs and throbs relentlessly, as if to say _I’m here, and you’ll never forget me._

“You alright?”

Junho snaps his attention to his immediate right where Chansung stands, dressed head to toe in black like always. His eyes are intent on Junho's face, and Junho feels like a children's book at times like this, when Chansung reads him so easily. Chansung quirks a faintly concerned brow at him, and his elbow gently digs into Junho's side. Junho nods his head, and he jerks his zipper up once more. Chansung blinks, curious and obviously amused. Junho feels like screaming. But Chansung just smiles that playful smile of his, and he turns back to listen to their hiking instructions. Junho does the same with a bit of a grimace. 

“...by now you should have formed into pairs.”

Junho had automatically gravitated towards Chansung, and Chansung didn’t seem to mind. He got along with pretty much everyone now, but this morning on the charter bus from the station he noticed some shifty looks his way, caught snippets of conversations about _the court trial_ and _not knowing Junho was married to_ that _Ok Taecyeon._

Some of it makes him want to laugh. Some of it doesn’t. 

The past few weeks, their company CEO raved about this trip’s purpose: to pull everyone away from technology and the chaotic pace of mainstream, commercial life. But Junho takes one look around the wooded clearing and immediately frowns. Dense trees, fresh earth. The pine and soil smell of the great outdoors. The tiny village of cabins where they are staying stands horribly out of place. 

Junho expected tents— sleeping bags on the ground, hot dogs on twigs around a fire. Instead they all have a sturdy roof overhead, hot running water, real beds, and whatever the hell an _outdoor experience coordinator_ is to make sure they’re all comfy and cozy. 

“All of you look in your pack,” said coordinator requests.

Junho glances down as Chansung tugs open the flap of the big black backpack their pair received. 

“Each pair has two bottles of water, some energy bars, a map, and a compass.” The guide grins, pleased with himself, as he lifts his hands to his hips. “A real compass— not that GPS on your phones.” He takes the moment to chuckle, and peers around for Junho’s co-workers to do the same. Some of them do, reluctantly. Junho rolls his eyes.

He curls his upper lip, a mix of disappointed and regretting. He bought some of this stuff last night— $30 water bottle included. He reaches out to flick a strap of the stupid backpack, bitter. It probably costs a couple hundred bucks on its own. 

Chansung rifles around in the pack and pulls out one of the bars, and chubby fingers lift it close to his eyes to read the fine print label. 

“We just had breakfast,” Junho mutters from the side of his mouth as the guide carries on over them. Chansung turns to him and pouts. A gentle stroke of wind brushes Chansung's black fringe out of his eyes, and Junho gets a whiff of his shampoo.

“I’m still hungry,” Chansung insists.

Junho snorts with a dramatic roll of his eyes and turns back to listen to the guide, even though he doesn’t want to. Foil crinkles in his periphery, and Chansung’s earnest chewing begins.

“Everyone will start at the same time, from different entry points. And though there is a prize for whoever reaches the top first, it’s not a race. Go at your own pace—” Junho wonders if the rhyme is on purpose, “—and stay hydrated. Have fun. Work together.” He sends them all off with a smile. 

Junho shrugs and leads the way through the thicket of trees leading up the trail, tucking his hands in his pockets. Chansung has made quick work of the energy bar. He balls up the wrapper and stuffs it in their backpack, and Junho watches him hoist the pack onto his shoulders with a put on look of impatience. He almost feels bad for not offering to carry it. Almost.

“Ready?” He lifts a leg to kick Chansung lightly in the shin. Chansung smirks and attempts to step on one of Junho’s feet, but Junho scrambles away, chuckling. 

“As I’ll ever be,” Chansung declares with a glint in his eye, giving up on his revenge for now. 

“You guys mind a couple more?”

Junho and Chansung both turn at once to see Doojoon and his crew waiting. He’s got his and Suzy’s pack on his back, and behind them, Sunye and Fei clamber up the short length of hill separating them. Junho moves close and nudges Chansung’s side as subtly as he can, suppressing his inward groan—

“Sure, join up.” Chansung grins at them. 

“Awesome,” Suzy says, as they all walk together. Junho nudges Chansung harder when everyone’s backs are to them. 

“ _What?_ ” Chansung mouths at him, and Junho grits his teeth in irritation. 

“ _Doojoon_!” He mouths back, and Chansung cringes. Chansung presses his palms together apologetically, bowing his head. 

“So—”

At Doojoon's voice, Chansung quickly drops his hands, and they turn abruptly. Junho smiles sweetly in Doojoon’s direction.

“—Didn’t think you’d make it, Junho. With all the stuff in the paper.”

Suzy and Fei cast each other furtive glances Junho’s certain they don’t mean for him to notice, but he does. He swallows and shrugs, slowly ambling up the firm dirt alongside Chansung, hands in his pockets. Doojoon’s ego is the last thing he wants to deal with today, and it takes everything he has not to punch Doojoon in the face for bringing all that up.

“I’m here,” Junho says brusquely. His hands close into fists in his pockets, and he stares resolutely at the green around him, unseeing. Doojoon’s lips pull into a snide little curve just before they part again for more. 

“My legs are starting to cramp already,” Suzy interrupts, leaning over to clutch the back of her thigh with a wince. Chansung snickers uncomfortably, and Junho peers at the side of her face, appreciative. Doojoon shakes his head at her and puffs out his chest.

“A trail like this is nothing.” 

Junho averts his gaze from Suzy, and it’s icy when it lands on Doojoon’s profile. 

“Last winter I hiked the White Mountains,” he brags, tipping his head back and shutting his eyes for a few seconds. Junho has a sudden desire to see him slip and fall. “Ten below at the summit. Felt like my lungs were full of ice cubes.”

Junho narrows his eyes. If only. 

“Chansung, come on.” Junho says, frustrated. He pushes ahead, not missing Sunye’s pitying gaze following him as he does so. He doesn’t want anyone's sympathy. Chansung’s feet grind into the earth behind him, heavy and quickening to keep up. Doojoon takes a deep breath, and Junho knows he’s just going to carry on.

“It’s important how you step, when hiking uphill.” He gestures with two fingertips to Suzy’s knee, totally oblivious to the annoyed stare she shoots at his forehead. “Put all your weight on your heels, not your toes.”

“You gonna teach us how to start a fire, too?” Fei quips, chuckling loudly. Suzy snorts and covers her mouth, and Chansung catches Junho’s eye with a smirk. Junho bites his lip to contain his amusement. Relief floods him. He’s not the only one.

“That _would_ be useful,” Doojoon mentions from the back, and Junho can just picture him rubbing his chin in consideration. 

“Spare us,” Junho grumbles, flicking his gaze over to Sunye, who’s wandered to his other side. She passes him a sneaky grin from under even black bangs. 

"Isn't your girlfriend into stuff like this, Chansung? Why didn't you bring her along?" Suzy smacks Chansung on the arm, and Junho has to squint to ensure he heard her correctly. _Girlfriend?_

"Sorta," Chansung tilts his head to one side and shoots a smile Suzy's way. "Indoor mountain climbing is more of her thing."

Junho opens his mouth but stops short when Suzy continues talking. He didn't know Chansung had a girlfriend. Why had he never mentioned her? He realizes he's slowed down and fallen behind Chansung, and the conversation, when Sunye throws her head back and laughs, nudging Doojoon in the side. 

"What? Indoor sports not _your_ thing?" She teases, and Junho can't help the satisfied little smirk that pulls at his mouth when Doojoon blushes. 

“The first checkpoint is just up ahead,” Chansung changes the subject, and Junho purses his lips guiltily, feeling a bit like a bully. He raises his eyes to the tree looming in front of them. A narrow brook separates them from the base of the tree, and a treacherous slope of dark grey stones leads upwards like steps to the trunk. A neon orange flag sits within the canopy, at least ten feet off the ground. 

“Great. We get to climb,” Suzy remarks bitterly, placing her hands on her hips. Doojoon chuckles, and starts to remove the pack from his shoulders.

“And swim,” Chansung sighs. 

“ _Yay_ ,” Sunye utters lifelessly.

Doojoon beams with pride at all of them, and Junho glares openly.

“ _We_ don’t," Doojoon casts his haughty gaze over them all before focusing it on the tree. "But I’ll get it since I’m the only hiker in the group.”

“I’ll get it,” Junho decides, and everyone’s eyes pin onto him. 

“—Seriously?”

“—Are you sure?”

Junho rolls his eyes again, and makes for the stream before Doojoon can stop him. He takes a deep breath and shudders as soon as his shoe sinks into the shallow water, up to the ankle. Cold water sloshes down into his hiking boots, and he thinks about every dollar wasted, his so-called waterproof pants.

“Whoo hoo! Go Junho!” Chansung whistles and cheers, and Junho laughs when he hears him clap his hands. 

_Fuck it,_ he thinks, and trudges through the rest of the brook until he makes it to the other side. Doojoon isn’t the only athlete— Junho played sports all his life. He’s pretty sure he stayed active in the five years he doesn’t remember, judging by how he looked in all the pictures. And he just really wants to prove the asshole _wrong_.

He teeters once he makes it to the stretch of rocks leading towards the tree, but he grunts and manages to regain his footing enough to grasp a low-hanging branch and haul himself up. Sunye shouts her excitement, and a rush of adrenaline surges through him, his heart thudding in his chest when his fingers close about the flimsy flag. 

Junho throws his arms over his head with a huge smile. His eyes scan over each face in his group and only one stands out: Doojoon. 

He stands next to Sunye, a veritable black cloud over him. He seethes with a jealousy that Junho can feel radiating through the forest between them. Junho's smirk is as victorious as it is malicious.

“Alright, now get back over here!” Suzy calls, her smile wide as she chuckles, inching closer to the bank of the stream. Junho laughs freely and drops the flag to his side. He peers down the length of the tree for a safe exit. His brain still soars from the adrenaline that got him up the tree, and he has to blink hard at what he sees. The ground shakes below. 

He shakes his head, willing the dizziness away. It recedes a bit, but not completely. His head feels disconnected from the rest of his body, and tiny stars dance at the edges of his vision. His breaths come short, and his lungs suddenly grow tight. He thrusts the flag between his teeth, propping his palms behind him on the thick branch supporting him. The ground still looms out of focus, but he’s _fine_ , and he _has to finish this_ , so he pushes himself off the branch, and gives himself over to the laws of gravity.

Sensation tugs in the pit of his stomach first, and then finally, comes the pain.

It shoots through Junho’s ankle, sharp and razor hot, and there is earth on his cheek, damp. Muddy. Dead leaves crunch in his mouth.

“Junho!” Chansung’s voice.

“Oh, shit!” Fei’s.

A few more trickle in, but Junho has trouble distinguishing them from the pounding in his ears and something high and shrill, like a birdcall overhead. He groans and wrenches his eyes shut in the mess of pain and confusion. Feet hurdle through water, and he spits the leaves and dirt back onto the ground as hands tug him and sit him up.

“My ankle—” he has the sense to rasp, dirt still bitter and thick coating his tongue, gritty between his molars. He spits again and bowls over to one side, about to be sick. 

Chansung’s face swims into focus, kneeling next to him, his mouth tight and his eyes dark with worry. His strong hand grips Junho tight around the tricep, and it occurs to Junho that it’s this touch, not his own strength, keeping him upright. He relaxes against it some more, wearily peering up at the others. 

Above, Doojoon and Sunye stand with shocked faces, clutching their backpack straps uselessly. Junho blinks, sniffling, coming back to himself at the ticklish feeling of Chansung lifting his pant leg.

“Ugh,” Junho utters just at the sight of his skin, purple bruising spreading across his ankle like a stain. Chansung hisses sympathetically, folding Junho’s hem up so the swelling joint is exposed. 

“It’s not broken, is it?” Doojoon’s dry voice asks. He sounds like he could care less. Chansung just stares at Junho’s ankle, considering. Then he peers up at Junho, his eyes sharp and attentive.

“Is it?” he repeats, and Junho manages to shake his head.

“Sprained,” he sighs. “I think.”

One of his butt cheeks is already numb from sitting. He plants his hands beside himself, bracing most of his weight on what he realizes is Chansung’s arm against his lower back. Chansung watches his face, and Junho faintly registers Chansung’s other hand just above one elbow, clutching tightly. He tips his head back, a bit disoriented, wetting his lips. 

“I need a stick,” he mutters, and Chansung squints at him in a brief moment of confusion, but then he squeezes Junho’s arm and rises wordlessly to retrieve one. Cold leaches through his jacket and he shivers in Chansung’s momentary absence, until Chansung returns and places a stick in one of Junho’s hands before settling behind him, supporting him once more, warmth returning.

“I— do we have rope, or fabric, or something?” Junho glances around at the others as his wits return to him. The leaves crumple beneath Suzy’s boots and Junho peers up to see her untying the flannel shirt she knotted at her hips.

“This is old. Take it,” she hands it to him, and Junho grins up at her gratefully and doesn’t hesitate to rip the fabric once it is in his hands.

He turns the stick over, looking closely at it before he snaps it in two. Chansung’s soft laugh is a rush of air against Junho’s ear and cheek, and he peers up from his task to see amusement emerging onto Chansung’s features, a dimple creasing his cheek. 

“A splint,” Chansung realizes out loud, gaze flicking from Junho’s hands to his eyes. Junho grins back, nodding. “I forgot— you were almost a doctor.”

“Almost,” Junho lifts his eyebrows with a tiny smidgen of regret. Medical school flits through his mind in a series of images he can’t even call memories. They are more a lump of emotions and textures under his fingers: the glossy page of a textbook and the desire to sleep; a cold scalpel in one hand to make an incision, the even colder pang as he chants the same question to himself day in and day out— _why am I doing this?_

Somehow, he got past that.

Understanding him with little more than a glance, Chansung moves away and tugs at Junho’s shoelaces as gently as possible. His hands are careful, steady as he grips Junho’s calf and gingerly removes his foot from his shoe. Junho muffles a pained whimper in his throat, digging his fingernails into the dirt. His sock is soaked through with water, and Chansung tosses it to the side. 

He takes the halves of the stick and holds them parallel to Junho’s ankle, and Junho grunts as he leans forward and wraps Suzy’s torn shirt around his foot and ankle as a makeshift bandage, pulling as tightly as he can manage. It will support his joints in case anything _is_ broken, and keep him from injuring it any further.

“Cool,” Chansung says, planting his hands on his hips and admiring Junho’s handiwork.

“Yeah, cool.” Doojoon breaks his silence, leveling them all with a matter-of-fact stare. His tone is business-like as he continues with a shrug. “But there’s no way he’s making it the rest of the way. He needs to get back to camp.”

Junho sighs, disappointed and embarrassed, because no matter how much he wants to go on, or how much he wants to kick Doojoon in the teeth, Doojoon is right. He sits back on his hands. 

“One of us has to take him back since he obviously can’t walk.”

Junho rolls his eyes, beyond irritated.

“I’ll take him,” Chansung speaks up, standing and brushing the dirt off his knees. He steps closer to Junho, stopping right at his shoulder. Junho has to tip his chin up to see Chansung’s face, and he sends him an appreciative smile.

Doojoon snorts loudly, swiping a hand over his eyes.

“Of course you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a huge B2ST fan, so this representation of Doojoon is just for funsies. I adore him, but I needed someone to be a jerk. If any of you are still reading this, sorry for the hiatus! Life got weird.


	24. Twenty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junho and Chansung pass the time.

“So, once the first person arrives at the summit, they’ll call a ranger to pick you up from the cabin. You guys can drive up and meet us,” Sunye informs them with all the grace of a natural leader. She then adds with a warm smile, “We wouldn’t want you to miss out on the barbecue.”

Junho can only sigh. He shrugs grumpily, dropping his eyes to the damp ground. He doesn’t want to miss out on any of it. He certainly doesn’t want reach the top of the mountain in a fucking car. He wants to finish the hike, and he wants to finish it _first_ , and prove to Doojoon that he can do this. That he’s better. 

Doojoon sends him an expressionless glance and comes forward to swipe the orange flag from where Junho dropped it on the ground. Junho’s lips thin into a glower. 

“Well, let’s go guys.” Suzy peeks around Sunye’s shoulder with a smile. “Hope you’re okay, Junho.”

The others— even Doojoon, much to Junho’s dismay— echo her before they turn to leave. Chansung squats next to him silently as Junho watches them all head uphill. Their conversation trickles out of earshot, and Junho turns to look at him with a bitter grimace.

“This sucks.”

Chansung laughs, “Yeah, it does.” He nods reluctantly, and his gaze flicks up and down Junho’s face before he casts a look around the woods and groans to his feet. Fine brown dirt rolls off of his black outdoor pants, and he sticks out his hands for Junho to take.

“It hurts,” Junho admits with a wince, staring warily at Chansung’s hands. Chansung just continues to look at him, palms extended, ever-patient. 

“Can you stand?”

Of course he can. 

Junho grabs Chansung’s hands, leaning his weight on his good leg as Chansung lifts him up. He wobbles a little, light-headed. Chansung waits, widening his stance so they are more or less the same height. His hands are soft and fleshy, clutching Junho’s tightly to keep him steady. 

“Put your weight on me,” Chansung advises him in a soft whisper, and Junho nods. He hates being like this— helpless. But he leans forward so his chest touches Chansung’s, and when Chansung releases his hands and begins to turn, Junho tracks him with his fingers on Chansung’s arms, shoulders, side, until Chansung’s back is to him. “Up you go,” Chansung says over one shoulder.

Junho snorts and plants his palms on Chansung’s shoulders properly. 

“Bend down a little,” Junho mutters, his cheeks a little hot at having to ask. He thinks he hears a chuckle, and he slaps Chansung on the back. 

“Ow,” Chansung doesn’t hide his laugh this time, but he softens his knees, until his shoulders are below Junho’s chin. Junho bites his bottom lip and jumps off his uninjured foot as Chansung reaches back. He grips Junho under the thighs and lifts him more securely onto his back.

As soon as Junho’s feet leave the ground, he is back to yesterday— Taecyeon pushing himself between his legs, how far he had to spread them and how wide Taecyeon’s torso felt there. The panic. How his brain reacted instantly with _bad, bad, bad_ , because it felt invasive, submissive, and he didn’t like it and he needed it to stop. 

He squeezes his eyes shut against the phantom emotions, tightening his hold around Chansung’s neck, uses his inner thighs to lift himself higher. 

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Junho mutters, grateful for the momentary distraction Chansung’s voice brings. But it instantly recalls Taecyeon’s questioning gaze looming over him, his hand on Junho’s knee where they lay on the sofa, inches away from pleasure. Before Junho came back to himself, relaxed, and that _bad, bad, bad_ turned into _really good, more, closer._

He sighs and peers at the back of Chansung’s neck as he starts to turn them in the direction of the camp. It’s almost like Taecyeon, like last night, in a way. Chansung and Taecyeon are both tall, built like action heroes. He flexes the muscles in his palms, testing the strength of Chansung’s shoulders absently. 

“What’s up?” Chansung pauses, turning so his profile is visible.

Junho immediately stops, realizing what he’s done. 

“Nothing,” he says quickly. “Sorry.”

Chansung turns back, and resumes walking back the way they came. 

“I _am_ sorry,” he mutters begrudgingly after a few minutes. “I ruined the trip for you.”

“Nah, it’s ok.” Chansung replies good-naturedly. Junho sneaks a grin at the back of Chansung’s head, not really believing it can be _ok_ to have to babysit while everyone else is hiking. He drops his forehead against the middle of Chansung’s back. 

But Chansung _is_ the only one who hasn’t mentioned the newspapers, the news, the photos of Junho and Taecyeon’s family outside the courthouse. All the media focus went from the robbery and justice to Taecyeon: son of a local mogul, married to the man who lost his memories. Maybe they are better friends than he thinks?

Junho sighs, listening to the evenly spaced falls of Chansung’s feet upon the forest floor. _Crunch-crunch. Crunch-crunch._

“The answer to your question is yes,” Chansung interrupts the easy stretch of silence. Junho hums his curiosity, and flashes of golden light peek through the darkness behind his eyes as they move through the forest. “Doojoon is always that much of an ass.”

Junho chuckles lazily, his eyes still shut. “I like that you always agree with me.”

He hears Chansung snort, the smile in his voice. “I think I just find you agreeable.”

“So everyone hates him,” Junho elaborates, satisfied. “Good. I was wondering if it was just me.”

“He can be difficult. But it got worse… after what happened to you.”

Junho opens his eyes and lifts his head, a crease in his brow as he regards what he can see of Chansung’s profile. 

“What does that have to do with him?”

Chansung chuckles a bit cynically. “Everything,” he says, carefully stepping over a stray log. “They were going to make you a senior developer. Doojoon’s been at the company a year longer than you, and that pissed him off. Then you were gone, and they didn’t even consider him. They just divided your responsibilities between Sunye and Sam.”

Junho blinks somberly, digesting this information. Sunye and Sam are already seniors, with four years a piece at the company. A flare of pride swells in Junho’s chest. 

“I can’t believe I got promoted so fast,” he thinks out loud.

“You’re very good at your job, Junho. You deserve it.”

Junho grins, and he reaches out to pinch one of Chansung’s cheeks. 

“Aww, you’re so sweet,” he coos, laughing even as Chansung yelps and tries his hardest to wiggle his face away from Junho’s fingers, snapping like crab pincers an inch from his skin. Junho’s chuckles dissipate, and he decides to spare Chansung any more torture.

He sighs and peers around the forest stretching at all sides. Sunlight streams through the canopy, warming his face, and he turns up to bask in it, inhaling the real, pure oxygen from the plant life. 

“Did I tell you Johnny tried to stop me from leaving?” Chansung asks after a while. Junho grins and shakes his head, even though Chansung can’t see him. “I filled their bowls with extra food and gave a key to my neighbor, so I think he knew I wouldn’t be back for a while.”

Junho snorts, but his voice is adoring. “He’s so clingy. What about Wolie?”

“She didn’t care,” Chansung chuckles. He turns a little so Junho can make out the smirk tilting his lips. “She didn’t look at me once.”

Junho smiles, suddenly wistful as he drops his head. He misses them. He wishes he could see the little things like that again, like back when they were kittens, tiny balls of fluff that crawled across his laptop while he studied, pawed at him when they were hungry. 

“I was thinking,” he starts, and he feels the muscles under his temple shift as Chansung turns his head slightly to listen. “About Johnny and Wolie. It’s like I’m married to Taecyeon, but I have kids with you. And I go back and forth because we have shared custody,” he laughs at himself, and for a scary, insecure moment the words dangle in the air and his chest constricts with uncertainty.

But then Chansung laughs, a vibration Junho feels where his wrists now rest against Chansung’s chest, through his stomach pressed to Chansung’s back. Junho grins from his whole being, relieved that Chansung understands. 

“You knocked me up and left me,” Chansung adds in a fake, dramatic sob, and it’s almost too much. Junho laughs hard, tears hot in his eyes, soothed by how easy it is to be with Chansung, to be himself, be understood. 

“Are you thinking of getting me pregnant?” Chansung insinuates, a dangerous edge in his voice.

Junho is caught between a gawk and a laugh— “What has this conversation turned into?” He has to bite his lip to stop his laughter from returning.

“You started it,” Chansung argues, and Junho smacks his shoulder. Chansung flinches, but he keeps moving.

“I was going along with you!” Junho purses his lips and grabs the shell of Chansung’s ear. Chansung yelps again and hisses, angling his head as far from Junho’s reach as he can. 

“Don’t forget,” Chansung huffs, grimacing and laughing both at once, “I can drop you and leave you here—”

“—So I can get eaten by a bear?” Junho gasps, and Chansung nods erratically, his ear still in Junho’s clutches.

“Yes, so you can get eaten by a bear.”

Junho narrows his eyes in disbelief. “You wouldn’t,” he cackles, letting go. Chansung lets out an anguished breath, the residue of his laughter still trickling out of him. Junho grins too, but he hesitates and peers around, a funny tingling on the hairs lining the back of his neck.

He lowers his voice. “Are there really bears?”

Chansung chuckles, adjusting his grip on Junho’s thighs, bouncing him a little. “I doubt it.”

Junho pouts and glances around them again, before a thought occurs to him, and he smirks in derision.

“I bet Doojoon would know.”

Chansung throws his head back and laughs.

*

It doesn’t take long for the cabins to come into view. Junho’s ankle is throbbing by the time they are inside, and he’s cringing and irritable when Chansung gently lets him down onto one of the twin beds on either side of the main room. 

“I’ll call the medic,” Chansung’s voice floats above him. Boots carry Chansung across loose floorboards. The door creaks open, slams shut.

“Damn it,” Junho mutters under his breath, even though he’s alone. He pushes himself up on his elbows and glances about the room, put out. The cabin is dark and moist, and has an old pine smell that gives him the urge to sneeze. A bathroom door and a tiny kitchenette sit off to one side, and the ceiling groans from Sunye and Fei’s empty room upstairs.

Chansung returns not five minutes later, medic in tow. She clicks her tongue at him from beneath a baseball cap and shakes her head judgmentally, before she unravels Junho’s makeshift splint with all the delicacy of a caveman. 

“It’s definitely not broken,” she sighs, almost disappointed. She squeezes at the swollen joint with a thumb and forefinger.

“Ow!” Junho shouts, but she ignores him. 

“Just sprained,” she tells them, like she expected— hoped for— more. Her eyes are chiding when they return to his. “There’s one every year.”

Junho tries not to glare at her as she wraps him in a light dressing, much more secure than his splint. She props his head and shoulders up on some pillows, and gathers even more to elevate his ankle above his heart. Chansung thanks her quietly as he follows her out, shutting the door behind them with a click. 

Footsteps bound off the front steps before Chansung re-enters, clutching a couple bags of ice. Junho can’t help the scowl he feels spreading over his face. 

“Painkillers working yet?” Chansung asks, leaning over him and setting one of the ice bags against his wrapped ankle. It is soothed instantly, and Junho exhales, relaxing more of his weight against his pillows.

“I guess,” Junho mutters, crossing his arms over his stomach. Chansung sends a tiny smile in his direction, much too cheerful for Junho’s liking. He watches, suspicious, as Chansung turns back to shut the door he left ajar. 

Junho flops against the pillows, his waterproof jacket noisy against the standard cotton pillowcases. His skin is hot underneath his jacket, but he refuses to take it off, still. He turns to look at the wall opposite him, distractedly touching his neck through his collar. 

The wood underfoot groans, something thumps onto the floor, and Junho hears the drag of a zipper. He peers back around, just as Chansung is shucking his own jacket. Chansung moves and hangs it up by the door, and then leans down to pull off his boots. 

He brushes his hands against his black clothes, padding on socked feet to the middle of the room where they left their luggage. He goes right for Junho’s, and a smile spreads on Junho’s lips as Chansung starts to rummage around inside, a chorus of cellophane and plastic. 

He drops onto the edge of Junho’s bed with arms laden with the chips and cookies Junho bought just for him. 

“There’s a board game, too,” Junho tells him, and Chansung rolls off the bed to grab it. He turns it over in his hands, reading the box. They do have hours to kill.

It’s Junho’s idea to move their bags aside and push the beds together, but Chansung is the one who does all the work. Junho watches from his perch of sky-high pillows, directing until the twin beds are pressed tightly side to side, and they set up the board game on the skinny divide between them. 

Chansung wanders away from the beds again, this time to his own overnight bag. Junho sneaks a glance at him as he sets the pair of dice in the middle of the board, suddenly recalling the group’s conversation earlier, before he fell. He bites his lip, considering the ways he can ask.

Chansung clears his throat as he returns, huge camera in hand. 

“Take any pictures of my ankle and I’ll kill you in your sleep,” Junho threatens, not even looking Chansung in the eye. A flash goes off above him, and he gawks up at Chansung just as he’s lowering the camera from in front of his eyes. He just snickers guiltily, shaking his bangs out of his eyes. 

“You—” Junho bites his tongue, frustrated, and he hurls the game instructions at Chansung. But it’s paper, and it barely touches Chansung’s leg as it flutters like a leaf to the floor. “Pick those up,” Junho mutters sulkily.

Chansung laughs at him as he swipes the instructions from the floor. Junho purposely snatches them from his hand, but Chansung just snickers even harder and settles on the other side of the board game to take some more pictures. He’s like a real photographer in his form, from the way he lifts the camera to the set of his shoulders, the angles from which he shoots. Junho smiles to himself, fascinated. 

And then he sees his opening. 

He takes it upon himself to read the instructions once they start. It’s simple enough, following the typical scheme of board games: whoever reaches the end wins, as long as they collect the most items. But barely an hour has passed before Junho gets bored. 

Chansung has just picked up the die for his next turn when Junho tosses the instruction manual in the middle of the board with an irritated sigh. Chansung glances up at him, flabbergasted. 

“This game would work way better with more than two people,” Junho states, raising his arms overhead to stretch. He shifts his hips, wincing as a faint whisper of pain shoots through his ankle, only slightly dulled now after the aspirin. He sniffs and waits, watching as Chansung wordlessly agrees and drops the dice. 

“Hey, can I see your camera?”

Chansung eyes him cautiously. “Is this revenge?”

Junho drops his head back to laugh, shaking his head once he’s upright again. He shrugs a shoulder in fake nonchalance. “No, it looks way too expensive. And I don’t believe in wasting money.”

Chansung squints at him, but his hand reaches to the side for the camera. Junho schools his features, hoping he looks as innocent as means to be. Finally, Chansung releases a soft sigh. Junho beams when he feels the weight of the camera in his hands. 

It’s shiny and heavy, and it has one of those huge retractable lenses Junho didn’t know they still used on cameras. He flicks at some buttons, until the most recent photo Chansung took appears on the screen. He recognizes his own hands, poised around the little figurine he chose to play in the board game. 

He nearly hesitates, but the question leaves his tongue regardless.

“Are there any pictures of your girlfriend on here?”

He sounds passive aggressive and he knows it, but he can’t keep the tiny bit of heat contained in his gaze when a muscle in his face twitches with irritation. Because why would Chansung feel the need to keep this from him? 

Chansung lifts his eyes to his, visibly thrown. He pauses, opens his mouth, closes it. Junho suddenly feels guilty for putting him on the spot. He smiles to lighten the mood. 

“Is she hot?” He ventures, his tone teasing. He bets she is. A guy like Chansung could get any girl he wanted. “I’m curious— what kind of women does Hwang Chansung like?”

Chansung wets his lips and averts his gaze, stroking his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, she’s—” he begins at last, “—She’s quite something.”

Junho purses his lips in annoyance. “How come you never talk about her?”

Chansung takes another breath, dropping his gaze to the abandoned game. He leans an elbow atop one knee, and his eyes find Junho’s once again. Something in his face is pained when he speaks. 

“Because she’s not my girlfriend anymore.”

Tension settles around Junho, and then it’s gone, diffusing into the air around them. His accusing expression melts into a frown, a weight drifts from his shoulders, and his voice leaves him as a flat note. “Oh.”

He lowers the camera next to his thighs, deliberate so as not to ruin it. So Chansung _hadn’t_ kept anything from him. Not really.

“We broke up,” Chansung goes on, his shoulders slumping just a tad. A sad smile takes shape on his mouth, a dull glint in his eyes. “I really didn’t think you’d ask.”

“I…” Junho cocks his head to one side, mildly offended. “You could have just told me.”

Chansung just shrugs, and his eyes drop to trace over the game they half-heartedly attempted to play. Shadows fall in the lines of his face, along the smooth bridge of his nose. 

“You had a lot going on. Besides—” He cuts himself off abruptly. 

Junho inclines his head to reclaim Chansung’s wavering gaze. “Besides what?”

Chansung shakes his head, casting a dismissive smile at Junho. “Nothing.”

Junho throws his hands up, exasperated. “Oh, come _on_.” He wishes he could shove Chansung, but he can’t reach him. “You know everything about me.”

Chansung’s mouth slants in a disputing smirk, but his eyes do focus on Junho’s now, more intently. “Not everything,” he counters. 

Junho rolls his eyes, but he perks up at the chance to lure Chansung into talking. He straightens up on his pillows and eggs Chansung on animatedly, “What do you want to know? I’ll tell you anything.” His tone is almost pleading. 

Chansung only watches him silently, and so much time passes with him just _looking_ that Junho loses hope of ever hearing anything. But then Chansung shuffles. He pushes the snacks aside and reaches for the board game. Junho figures out his intentions, and does what he can to help him pack up the pieces and replace everything in the box. 

Chansung rises onto his haunches and then lies in the empty space the game formerly occupied. He settles on his side, facing Junho with his head propped in his palm. His knee brushes against the outside of Junho's thigh. Junho quirks his mouth in an inviting smile and folds his hands in his lap, all ears, ready to answer any questions.

“Why are you hiding your neck?”

_Except_ that.

Junho feels his eyes widen, but Chansung isn’t done. 

“I turned up the heat when we got in, but you’re still wearing your jacket. You keep touching yourself, right—” he lifts a finger, and Junho watches it as it gets closer and closer but does nothing to stop it from touching him. Chansung’s fingertip falls right on the fabric over the bitemark, and it stings. “—there.” Chansung's curious features settle, satisfied as he tugs his hand away. 

Junho squints at the sensation, but remains quiet. He knows a challenge when he sees one. He sighs through his nose, holding Chansung’s eye contact resolutely. He unzips his jacket, and the air particles surrounding them swoop in at once over this new stretch of skin as his collar comes apart. He tilts his jaw up, nose to the ceiling, his eyes still on Chansung’s as he bares his neck to be seen.

Curiosity curbs Chansung’s fighting spirit. He pulls his eyes away from Junho’s and down they drop to the vicinity of Junho’s collarbone. The bite throbs under this new attention, and Junho bites his lip. He wonders how it looks now.

He tips his head back a little more, his eyes finding solace on the wood paneling overhead. Chansung’s gaze is tangible on his skin. It has weight. It is rooted, like there is no intent to go anywhere else for the time being. Junho suddenly inhales sharply, and a funny sensation wiggles around the pit of his stomach, not unlike a thrill. 

“So,” Chansung finally draws out, and Junho can feel the ensuing sigh hot on his neck they are so close. Too close, perhaps. He drops his chin, and his eyes, so they settle on Chansung’s face. Chansung tears his gaze away from the bitemark to look at him directly. “You and Taecyeon are back together.”

Something is wrong— so wrong, when Junho hears Taecyeon’s name spoken aloud in this tiny hot room, virtually on the same bed as Chansung. Lying as close as they are now, Chansung still on his side and Junho on his back. His lips are dry so he licks them again, and somehow forces his jaw to nod. 

“Yeah, I guess.”

He hears Chansung exhale, and he uses the silence that spreads between them to pull his jacket off and toss it to one side. Sweat evaporates from the back of his neck, and his skin cools. He reaches up and dabs at the hickey with tender fingertips, and last night revisits him in a rush of emotions and sensory images: warm and wet kisses, the tight spit-slicked grip of a hand on him curling his toes, Taecyeon’s come running warm down the back of his palm.

The muscles in Chansung’s throat move, and his eyelids flutter in a slow, lazy blink before they regard Junho again, just as Junho says in an almost coy, airy tone: “I don’t know what came over him.”

Chansung’s upper lip draws back slowly and bares his teeth. Something dark and wild shines in his brown eyes, and his voice drops, indulgent. “I can take a guess.”

Junho’s mouth slides upwards in a pleased smirk, because he can volunteer a few guesses, himself. He remembers. He fingers lightly at the bitemark again and drops his hands to his sides, using his palms to push himself more upright.

“I guess he got tired of jerking off,” Junho says dryly, and after a bit of afterthought adds— “I know I did.”

That makes Chansung smile.

“He got tired of not being able to touch you,” Chansung states plainly as if to correct him, his gaze unwavering, looking into Junho now with a confidence that leaves Junho feeling inconceivably bare. He continues to speak, and Junho listens. “This time last year he could have you whenever he wanted, however he wanted.”

The candor sends a shiver down Junho’s spine, the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, his cheeks burn hot. Chansung’s intense expression does not change, and his eyes never leave Junho's face. 

“To suddenly have that privilege gone is enough to drive a man crazy.”

Junho tightens his mouth, and realizes belatedly that he is holding his breath, lost in the gentle cadence of Chansung’s voice, the meaning and the imagery in his words. Love and lust, exclusivity and companionship. All the things he saw in that video he made, where he harnessed the perfect storm of skin and sweet words to have Taecyeon wrapped around his finger, giving Junho the sex he craved.

A heavy knock pounds on the door, and Junho nearly leaps out of his skin. 

Chansung barely stirs. He ends their eye contact with a noticeable reluctance, and remarks with an ironic smirk, “Time to join the others.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait, what?


	25. Twenty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taecyeon and Junho handle separation in their own ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit long, sorry! Mostly dialogue, but I wanted it all to be one chapter. :)

_“More,”_ Junho had moaned, with Taecyeon’s hair in his fingers, his skin between Taecyeon’s teeth. Taecyeon had bitten at the sweet, delicate flesh just below Junho’s throat, sucked and licked until it was dark and angry and impossible to hide.

Taecyeon’s mouth twitches with just an iota of guilt, as he sits, spacing out on the couch a few hours after dropping Junho off. It was possessive and childish, but he’d known exactly what he was doing, when he did it. And why.

The charter bus windows had been blacked out but Taecyeon stared, searching even though he couldn’t make out Junho’s silhouette. When the bus pulled away, trailed by a stream of silvery exhaust, he had sighed and braced his hands on the wheel with one little mantra: _It’s going to be okay._

But Taecyeon knows that that was wrong, and that he is going insane. Slowly. Painfully. Insane. 

He sighs and squeezes a hand inside his pocket for his phone, dropping his empty coffee mug next to himself on the couch. It tips sideways against his thigh as he finds Minjun in his contacts.

_Are you up?_ He types, wiggling his thumbs as he awaits a reply. He’s surprised when he gets one.

_Yeah why?_

Taecyeon licks his lips, deliberating, and proceeds to type again.

_Can I come over?_ He decides on, because one thing is certain: he needs to get the hell out of this apartment. 

_Wooyoungie took me out to brunch. Won’t be back until later_

Taecyeon sighs dramatically and drops his head back before getting another idea. _Then can you guys come over here?_ It’s too weak. He doesn’t realize he’s speaking out loud as he’s typing. 

“I’ll… make... breakfast.” A devious smirk takes shape on his mouth. The reply this time is swift.

_NO_

And then a flood of texts comes through.

_WOOYIUNF ISN’T COMING ANYWHERE AROUND YOU WHILE JUNHO’S NOT HOME_

Taecyeon takes a moment to snicker at the glaring typo.

_WE’RE ALREADY EATING ANYWAY SO DON’T TRY TO TRIXK ME MR_

_I SEE THROUGH YOUR LITTLE GAMES_

Taecyeon can only sigh as he rises from the sofa, defeated. 

_I’ll just come by later then._

Nothing. Desperate, Taecyeon decides to be honest.

_I need therapy._

Seconds tick by, and finally:

_FINE._

So, they struck a deal. 

Taecyeon would cook them dinner in exchange for Minjun’s ear. But Minjun gave him one condition: Taecyeon and Wooyoung were _not_ to see each other.

That’s why it’s so confusing when, around 5:30, Taecyeon knocks on Minjun’s door and it opens to reveal _not_ Minjun. The messy black hair and the small, guarded eyes staring at Taecyeon for these awkward ten seconds must belong to Wooyoung. 

“Hi,” Taecyeon shakes himself out of it with a smile, extending his free hand to Wooyoung. “I’m Taec—”

“Taecyeon, I know,” Wooyoung interrupts in an irritated tone that causes Taecyeon to bristle, just a little bit, and for the _Oh, he’s cute_ to turn into a _he’s fucking rude._ He takes Taecyeon’s hand anyway and shakes it, not relinquishing their eye contact. “You’re the needy one.”

Taecyeon furrows his brows, taken aback. He blinks, and has to ask himself if he _really_ just heard those words leave Wooyoung’s mouth. 

“Taecyeon!”

Minjun appears over Wooyoung’s shoulder, and Wooyoung turns and steps out of the doorway while Minjun ushers Taecyeon inside. Minjun grabs Wooyoung by the forearms, drawing him further down the hallway with an apologetic wince Taecyeon’s way. 

“I told you to stay away from the door!” He hisses at Wooyoung.

Wooyoung shrugs, his eyes widening defensively. “You were in the bathroom! What was I supposed to do? Leave him on the doorstep?”

“Yes!” Minjun insists. Taecyeon sighs— it’s like he’s not even here. He shuts the door behind himself, toeing out of his shoes. He stands quietly, groceries in hand, and waits. 

Wooyoung licks his lips, casting Taecyeon one more glance before his eyes settle on Minjun’s imploring ones, matter of fact. “Too late.”

Minjun sighs in exasperation and turns Wooyoung one hundred eighty degrees towards the doorway Taecyeon knows leads to the living room. 

“You guys didn’t see each other,” Minjun speaks in the slow, even meter of a hypnotist. “Go away.”

Taecyeon watches, mildly amused, as the younger man retreats into the living room with a loud, telling yelp. Minjun reappears with a wide grin, and Taecyeon allows himself to be distracted by arms coming up to encircle his neck. 

“I didn’t realize I missed you until I saw you!” Minjun chuckles, as if none of that transpired. 

“You’re so weird,” Taecyeon grins into the hug, giving Minjun a squeeze. He missed him, too. 

“Oh—” Minjun lets go with a start, and when he looks down Taecyeon realizes he’s still holding the grocery bags he brought with him as an olive branch. Minjun’s eyes double in size at the sight of food. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”

“I brought wine,” Taecyeon mutters, and Minjun smirks deviously and pats him on the cheek, leading the way. 

It only takes a few minutes for Taecyeon to set up— Minjun’s kitchen is spacious and clean, and he points out everything Taecyeon might need to use. The blender is plugged in, ready for Taecyeon to make tomato sauce. A big, stainless steel pot sits on the range to boil pasta, along with a pan of the same make for the sauce.

“I’m so excited,” Minjun sings, grabbing the red wine Taecyeon brought and locating a corkscrew. He fills two glasses and leans against the counter while Taecyeon rolls his sleeves up. “My own personal chef!”

Taecyeon snorts, tasting his wine. It’s good and full-bodied, with _a dry finish_ — as he’s heard on TV. He glances back at Minjun over one shoulder as he poises a knife over a bulb of garlic. “If the whole doctor thing doesn’t work out, you’ve got my number.”

He’s making his specialty— spaghetti. He’s made it so many times he actually feels confident serving it to people other than Junho, and Minjun asked for it by name. How could he say no?

Minjun snickers behind the lip of his glass, crossing one arm over his stomach. As he moves away from the counter and leans in to sniff, Taecyeon mills the blade through garlic and herbs, a few tomatoes. 

“Ah,” he exhales, “I might have to get you your own room.” He nudges Taecyeon in the ribs.

Taecyeon side-eyes Minjun, a sneaky edge in his voice, “Will Wooyoung be moving in, too?”

Minjun smacks him on the arm, like Taecyeon knew he would. He sighs heavily through his nose, but answers softly, “Maybe. I might move into his place. We’re talking about it.”

Taecyeon smiles and drinks more of his wine. He knows better than to comment, but he’s happy for them.

“So, what made the great Ok Taecyeon consider therapy? Is it because Junho left?” Minjun tuts at him, and then he tilts his head to force eye contact Taecyeon pretends he doesn’t notice. “You realize he leaves when he goes to work everyday, right?”

Taecyeon takes his turn to sigh, and he nods reluctantly as he carries the cutting board over to the blender. That’s the truth. Junho does leave every morning just for work. But Taecyeon leaves for work, too, and he has something to keep his mind occupied. 

“It’s not the same,” he reasons, shaking his head.

He piles in the chopped herbs and fresh tomatoes and sets the lid on top. He simply rests his hand there, his finger poised over the power button as he peers at Minjun. 

“You think I’m crazy, right?”

Minjun just squints at him, considering. “Not crazy. Traumatized.” He says diplomatically, turning to set his wine down. 

Taecyeon shudders. “I think I like ‘crazy’ better.” He flicks the blender on so he doesn’t have to hear what Minjun has to say, and the shrill whir erupts between them, Minjun’s eyes heavy on Taecyeon’s face. _Traumatized_ sounds so… damaged. Taecyeon shakes his head. He’s a lot of things. _Damaged_ is not on that list.

“And in denial,” Minjun adds opportunely, once the blender shuts off.

Taecyeon rolls his eyes and smiles at his friend. That is definitely on the list.

“So, when I called yesterday…”

Taecyeon’s face grows warm as Minjun drops off delicately. He remembers. They were in bed. Junho was naked in bed _with_ him, and the night before they had— 

“We had a breakthrough,” Taecyeon allows himself a soft smile, lowering his face as he interrupts his own thoughts. Minjun snorts, and then the swish of wine, the tiny gulp of Minjun’s swallow.

“About that,” Minjun throws his free hand up in warning, “first of all, I don’t want any details. But I want you to understand something.” 

Taecyeon turns at the sudden seriousness in Minjun’s tone, and he sighs, resigning himself to listen, albeit with a bit of a chip on his shoulder. He jerks the glass carafe from the blender base and carries it back to the stove.

Minjun wets his lips and watches Taecyeon drizzle olive oil into the saucepan before continuing, “Junho is getting to be himself a bit more, everyday. Meaning he’s—”

“Horny,” Taecyeon fills in, shooting Minjun a lewd smirk. 

Minjun purses his lips in distaste and narrows his eyes, unamused. “The two of you, I swear—” he drifts off under his breath, and finally stops to give a dramatic, cleansing shake of his head. He takes up his glass and slowly moves several steps closer. He leans against the stretch of counter closest to the stove, slips a hand into one pocket of his jeans. 

“Junho will want intimacy. And you haven’t been intimate with him for a long time.”

Taecyeon pauses as he pours the blended sauce over oil. Minjun is right. He hasn’t rationalized this change yet. One instant they were like teenagers: making out, light touches never below the waist. Over the last forty-eight hours, everything changed.

The first glimpse of Junho’s bare skin was euphoric. The first touch, the taste— Taecyeon had lost control. His brain wasn’t doing the thinking. Minjun shuffles closer, and over the simmering sauce Taecyeon mixes around in the pan, he detects Minjun’s cologne. It’s subtle and reminds him of the ocean. 

He turns down the heat and sets the wooden spoon aside, facing Minjun. Minjun’s mouth folds upwards in a small, appreciative smile once their eyes meet. 

“Everything to Junho will be experimental. For you, it’s not. You need to be clear to him about your boundaries. It’s traumatic—” Taecyeon grits his teeth at that word again, but he has to tune in, because Minjun is still talking—

“— to lose your husband. That was a loss, even though he’s physically here. If you’re not comfortable with anything he wants to do, tell him.”

Taecyeon can’t stop the flinch that works its way through his shoulders at Minjun’s words. He sighs and turns away, bracing his weight on two hands on the range. Minjun wraps a hand around his upper arm, squeezing with persistence. 

“You two have made a hell of a lot of progress, but don’t stop talking to each other. You’re not on the same page because he’s not the same.” He pauses meaningfully when Taecyeon inhales deeply, shutting his eyes. His fingers squeeze once again, grounding. “Take care of yourself.”

Taecyeon stares into the black behind his eyelids, and the vision that greets him is of Junho’s eyes, heated and affectionate in the semi-dark of their bedroom. _You don’t want me?_ He had asked, and it had hurt to hear those words, because Taecyeon always wanted him.

“I think I’m alright,” Taecyeon hedges, and as an afterthought he lifts his gaze to meet Minjun’s with a careful smile, just for authenticity. Minjun furrows his brows, not convinced in the slightest.

 

*

Junho can’t catch a break. 

From the instant he and Chansung arrive at the barbecue to the moment everyone takes their seats, they can’t get a moment long enough to talk about Chansung’s girlfriend. They are constantly interrupted. 

First, there’s the photo. 

Junho had eaten and eaten until his stomach grew tight, and no more barbecue fit. He pushes his plate away and sags against the wooden table. He takes a cautious sip of beer and immediately burps. Spices from the meat still burn and fade on his tongue.

“Bowing out already?” Chansung teases from next to him, and Junho just nods, unashamed. He sets a hand over his belly and pats it, content. Chansung clears his throat and lifts his legs over the side of the bench they occupy. “I’m gonna grab dessert.”

Junho wrinkles his nose up at him. He spotted a huge chocolate cake inside the main lodge, along with an assortment of other sweet treats. Just the idea of having one makes him a little woozy. Chansung smirks before he disappears through the other rows of long outdoor cafeteria tables to the buffet. Junho tips his head back, inhaling the crisp night air, the smokiness of meat on the grill.

He likes the simplicity of it— man and nature. No computers, no phones. But still, he wonders what Taecyeon is doing. He sighs and leans his chin in his palm. Chansung returns with a plate full of sweets, and Junho just shakes his head. 

“I hope you don’t get sick tonight.”

“Psh,” Chansung chuckles haughtily. “This is nothing. You should see me during the holidays.”

“Ugh,” Junho drops his hands into his lap, and stares at the side of Chansung’s face as Chansung bites deeply into a chocolate cupcake. There’s no time like the present. “So, you never told me—”

Suddenly Sunye appears out of nowhere, that mischievous smile of hers playing over features that glow with mild intoxication. It only goes downhill from there. 

“Junho, this is your seat!” She says, after she and a few others have literally dragged him inside to the common area. He spies Doojoon, standing among the rest of his coworkers in a huge huddle for the picture. An orange medal dangles from his and Suzy’s necks, and something shrivels and dies in the pit of Junho’s stomach. 

His eyes drop to the chair at the front of the group in pure disdain.

After the photo, they all remain in the common room and Chansung is somehow coerced into handing out more drinks to everyone. 

“Speech!” Someone crows, and Junho gets ushered to a huge, comfy sofa, squished between Sunye and a man from finance whose name he can’t recall. His crutches clatter uselessly to the floor. CEO Jihyun grins bashfully, and in seconds he’s standing before the crackling fireplace, and everyone falls silent.

“We, as technology professionals, have a responsibility to use our expertise to keep people connected, while also fostering an appreciation for life above our screens.” He casts an intent look around at all of them, and as he drones on, Junho’s eyelids droop. 

His final thought before passing out slinks through his mind, barely complete: _Taecyeon would love this._

Chansung wakes him up, and somehow Fei and Suzy end up in the Jeep with them on the way back to camp. It makes sense, since Fei is staying in the room above theirs, but the two women have no intent on sleeping. Junho sulks the entire ride.

He fumbles his way to his bed on the crutches and sinks down with a heavy sigh, watching as Fei grabs Chansung’s elbow and jerks him like he’s some overgrown doll. 

“...It’s fun, I promise!” She grins up at him, and everything about her is persuasive: the tenacious tilt of her head, the conscious gleam in her eyes. 

Chansung hesitates, chuckling and staring down at her with that eternal patience he has. Fei pouts and gives his arm a few more rough tugs, her long hair a swaying fall of black over her shoulder, the smooth column of her neck. Junho feels invisible. Suzy comes hurtling through the door with about five others, snickering and storming up the stairs with a crate of beer. Chansung turns to Junho, pink-cheeked and smiling from his whole face. 

“Junho, do you want to play? It’s Humanity Cards or something—”

“Cards Against Humanity,” Fei jumps in, still clutching Chansung’s arm. Junho blinks, peering down at her fingers, curled around Chansung’s sleeve. 

“No,” he waves a hand dismissively. “I’m tired.”

“You sure?” Chansung asks, concern turning down the sides of his mouth. Junho nods adamantly before Chansung can offer to stay with him. 

“Go. Have fun, guys.”

Fei grins, victorious, and starts to tug Chansung towards the stairs. Junho turns away as they leave, listening to their footsteps depart into silence. Once he’s alone, he casts another glance at the empty staircase. He really doesn’t blame her. 

Morning arrives too quickly. 

When Junho awakes from his Tylenol-induced nap on the charter bus, they are minutes from the bus station. Chansung sits next to him, flicking through emails on his phone. The tires rumble over speed bumps as the bus pulls into the huge terminal. They file off, and Junho accepts a few awkward hugs and wishes to get better soon, grimacing through the attention. 

“Oh no,” he realizes, groaning. “I forgot to text Taecyeon,” he curses under his breath, digging his phone from his pocket once he crutches over to a bench outside. Part of him, he knows, has been dreading this. The medic called Taecyeon last night, apparently, since Junho listed him as an emergency contact. So he knows about the ankle.

Junho doesn’t want to have to deal with the disappointment on his face. He bites his lip, typing out a quick text that he’s ready to be picked up. Chansung’s sneakers shuffle up and stop in front of his one hiking boot and his socked, wrapped ankle. 

“I can wait with you,” Chansung offers with a shrug, settling next to him.

“You don’t want to head home?” Junho asks, though he’s glad to have Chansung here. 

“The subway station is just a block up the street. I can walk once I know you got out of here okay.” Chansung smiles at him, sticking his hands into his jacket pockets. Junho reaches over to pat him on the thigh. 

“Thanks.”

“Want to wait inside?”

Junho shakes his head. “It’s nice out.”

He worries his bottom lip, peering first at Chansung’s profile, then around at the others remaining. Some wait by their cars, laughing and chatting, well out of earshot. A sly smile begins to form on Junho’s mouth, but he swallows and licks his lips, forcing them into a solemn line. He can’t look too eager. 

“So,” he starts off, hoping he doesn’t sound nosy. But he’s dying to know. He can’t help but drive straight to the point. “What happened with your girlfriend?”

Chansung peers at him, one brow quirked as an amazed smile works its way onto his face. He turns back to stare ahead of them, a heavy sigh puffing his chest. He remains silent for a stretch of time that stretches on too long, but Junho’s ears are perked up for any and every word. Finally:

“Infidelity,” Chansung answers evenly. Junho grimaces. He figured. 

“That sucks,” he mutters, looking down at his nails. He reaches out to pat Chansung on the back. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Chansung’s eyes find his again, pensive. Junho smiles a different smile this time, one of sorrow as he rubs a tiny circle in Chansung’s back. He opens his mouth to say more, but Chansung beats him to it. 

“I cheated. Not her.”

That stops Junho in his tracks. His hand freezes on Chansung’s back, and his smile falls. 

“Oh, I thought—” he babbles, embarrassed. He squeezes his eyebrows together, confused. Chansung surprises him with a low chuckle, vibrating against Junho’s palm. Junho slowly pulls his hand into his lap. 

“What?” Chansung asks, no inflection. He angles his shoulders so they are more or less face to face, and Junho finds it hard to look into his eyes, now. “I don’t seem like a cheater?”

“No, I just—” Junho sighs, staring at his own pants. He shuts his mouth. _No_. He didn’t take Chansung for the kind of guy to sleep around. He clears his throat and lifts his gaze back to Chansung’s. 

“It’s ok,” Chansung watches him, thoughtful and surveying. Junho feels oddly exposed, and he doesn’t know why it matters to him so much— what Chansung thinks about his reaction to this. 

“Was it someone you had feelings for, or…?”

“...or a one off?” Chansung provides for him, blunt. A cynical smile slips onto his mouth, and his eyes drop from Junho’s for an instant, and he looks just as vulnerable as Junho feels. “No, I— ” his voice is quieter, now, and he laughs, rubbing chubby fingers over his eyes. “—I was in love.”

Junho tilts his head to one side, hopeful now. 

“And was she? The one you…” Junho inwardly squirms at the words cheated with, and they don’t leave his mouth. The last thing he wants is to hurt Chansung’s feelings. But Chansung nods in understanding. 

“I think so,” Chansung sighs, his gaze distant. Junho frowns at the pain he sees, pain he never noticed, so wrapped up in his own problems. He slaps Chansung on the shoulder, and Chansung snaps to attention. 

“When did all this happen? You should have told me. I would have helped you,” Junho chides, his voice rising just a little. He glances around guiltily, but no one is butting in, for once. 

“You knew,” Chansung mumbles, fidgeting with his zipper. He shrugs. “It was a while ago.”

_Before the attack_ , he means. Junho scowls and sighs. He hates this, sometimes. Not remembering anything. Chansung’s face rises, and Junho turns back to catch him staring, and the mess of emotions he finds there makes Junho’s chest ache: regretful, lost. 

He wiggles his hand under and into Chansung’s elbow and squeezes him there, hoping it says everything he can’t. 

_Beep-beep_. 

Junho turns at the sound of a horn. Taecyeon’s black Audi pulls into the lot, and Junho unfurls his hand from Chansung’s arm, slipping both hands into the warmth of his pockets as Taecyeon parks feet away. The door pops open, and it feels like forever, since Junho has seen him, handsome motherfucker that he is. 

Taecyeon looks like autumn in his red flannel and jeans, like home, and all Junho wants when their eyes meet across the lot is for him to make them dinner and cuddle with him under a blanket. 

“Out of my sight for two days, and look at you,” Taecyeon calls out by way of greeting, his tone light and teasing. Affection burns in his eyes as he draws closer, and Junho feels sweat prickling at his temples, under his arms. 

His attention span splits and runs in every direction: Suzy and Woo Bin staring at Taecyeon from where a row of buses idle; hushed whispers at Junho’s back; Doojoon rubber-necking with the people from HR, watching, watching, watching; Chansung stiffening right next to him.

Taecyeon smiles playfully at him as he steps up onto the curb, and Junho returns it, a little lightheaded as his two worlds collide. Taecyeon’s lips are moving, he’s leaning down, down, and Junho tilts his chin up, up without thinking, into warmth, into pressure—

Only when Taecyeon withdraws does Junho realize they’ve kissed. In front of everyone.

“Ready to go?” Taecyeon exhales, his eyes gleaming with that undying pride of his. Junho lowers his face, skin hot. He moves shaky hands to grasp his crutches, and he can’t will his voice to leave his throat. Taecyeon doesn’t seem to notice. 

He turns his head as he reaches out to help Junho stand, sending that smug smile Chansung’s way all while Junho blinks wide eyes, his brain chatter a constant stream of _fuck, fuck, fuck_ and his palms damp when he finally gets all his weight onto the crutches. 

“Chansung,” he hears Taecyeon say, distantly. “You need a ride?”

Junho can’t look at Chansung. He can’t look at anyone or anything, except the concrete. 

“No, thanks. I’m taking the subway.”

Junho can practically hear all their thoughts, and when he feels Taecyeon’s hand in the small of his back, careful and considerate, the hickey on his collarbone smolders beneath his clothes like it’s peeling open. He’s halfway to the car before Taecyeon catches up to him and opens the door. Everything is faint echoes until the driver’s side door shuts and Taecyeon is sitting behind the wheel. 

Junho waits until they’ve pulled out of the lot, onto the highway before speaking. 

“Did you have to do that?” He keeps his eyes on the road ahead of them, chewing the inside of his mouth. Taecyeon doesn’t answer right away, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

“Do what?”

Junho sighs, running a hand over his face. He can’t believe—

“You know what,” he spits out, and Taecyeon scoffs, angling his head in Junho’s direction without taking his eyes off of traffic. 

“What I need to _know_ is what made you fall out of a tree,” he deflects, and Junho gawks at him. 

“ _No_ , you’re not doing this right now. You kissed me in front of everyone—”

“—I knew you should have stayed home.”

“My boss was watching.”

“You overdid it, just like you overdo _everything_ , and now you’re on fucking crutches—”

“Taecyeon—”

“—You should have just listened to me.”

“Taecyeon, they saw,” _They saw us, they saw me._ The sob threatening to emerge thickens Junho’s voice and brings Taecyeon to a halt. He turns completely, surprised.

“Junho—”

The dashboard, the pale grey sky, everything Junho sees blurs and mixes as his eyes burn, and he lifts his hands to cover his face. The car speeds up and veers to the right, and then it slows to a stop. The engine shuts off. Junho lets out a ragged exhale into his damp palms, and Taecyeon’s seatbelt clicks, leather draws back.

“Babe, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Fingers grasp at Junho’s and peel them away from his face. Junho sighs as Taecyeon takes his hands, lets his head fall back against his seat. 

“I just missed you, I guess.” The ensuing laugh is self-deprecating, the touch is tender and Junho’s eyes fill again, but now— now he feels like a jerk. He opens his eyes to see they’ve pulled over onto the shoulder, every other car zooming past them. 

“No,” Junho mutters, his voice shaky. He clears his throat and turns to look Taecyeon in the eye. “I am.” 

“You don’t have to apologize,” Taecyeon reaches out to touch his face, and he scrapes the edge of his finger along Junho’s cheekbone, down near the corners of his mouth. His hand comes away wet, and his eyes harden. “I know you’re not ready for that.”

“Yeah,” is all Junho can muster. He feels stupid, crying like this. But everyone… they all saw—

“Wanna go home?” Taecyeon inclines his head to him, speaking softly, as if to a child. And Junho can’t even be angry, because that’s exactly what he feels like. He nods once. Home sounds good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone still alive out there? I haven't updated since June :( Hope people are still interested. This has been a tough year, and writing really helps, so I plan to be around more! Thanks, everyone. :D


	26. Twenty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taecyeon and Junho have company.

“No one even knows how that man got past the front desk.”

“Taecyeon wasn’t the one sitting there, so it certainly isn’t _his_ fault.”

“Of co— I _know_ that, but he _is_ the reason the damn reporter came in here in the first place!”

Taecyeon takes a minute to raise an eyebrow at the out-of-character curse word from the administrative director of the cardiology clinic, Mrs. Lim, and then promptly goes back to drumming his fingertips against one thigh, waiting. The attending physician, Dr. Yong, sighs through flared nostrils, her stare intense on the director’s face. 

Taecyeon’s mouth folds just so at the corner, appreciative that she’s taking his side. No, he was not the person who let the reporter slip past the reception area and into an exam room, because he was _in_ that exam room with a patient. He was minding his business, stethoscope to his 1:30 appointment's chest, listening to her breathe _in, out, in, out_ , when a smartphone camera suddenly flashed across his face.

Director Lim returns Dr. Yong’s pointed look, and then she pins her hawk-eyes on Taecyeon, welcoming him back into the conversation all about him, but very much lacking his input. She forces a polite smile.

“Dr. Ok,” she begins, as respectively as she can, sweetening it with a smile. “A local news reporter trespassed onto hospital property, into our clinic. Very private, very confidential medical information was at risk, today. I don’t have to explain this to you.”

“No, you don’t,” Taecyeon speaks, for the first time since he was called into this office fifteen minutes ago. Lim smiles again, and continues. 

“I understand that your personal situation is very delicate at the moment. However, your presence here is inviting unwanted attention. I think it’s best if you take a few days away from the hospital, just to… sort all of this out.”

Disappointment drops, heavy, into the pit of Taecyeon’s stomach. As if a few days are enough time to sort out something like this— lingering shadows his dad's money has yet to shake. He purses his lips and slides his gaze to Dr. Yong, who narrows her eyes and nods, something he interprets as _we’ll talk more later._ He clears his throat and stands, wetting his lips and extending a hand. Director Lim smiles, pleased with herself as she rises to accept his hand, and Taecyeon takes the easy route for once. 

“Understood.”

He’s barely in the car that evening when his phone vibrates in his pocket. His stomach twitches guiltily at the thought of explaining his sudden vacation to Junho, and he takes a nervous look at the screen.

_Don’t forget the whiskey! Wooyoung likes it._

Taecyeon sighs and tucks his phone away. Whiskey was the last thing on his mind, but boy, did it sound good right now. He drives to the liquor store and meanders through the aisles until he finds the biggest, baddest bottle of the good stuff, and buys two.

Junho is kneeling on a stool in the living room, hammer in hand and nail poised to the wall when Taecyeon walks through the door. 

“Junho, what—?” 

“Oh, hey!” Junho grins his way and turns back to the project at hand. _Whack, whack, whack_ , Taecyeon cringes each time the hammer falls and shuts the door, toeing out of his shoes. He grips the whiskey in one arm and takes deliberate steps toward Junho. Junho must have dragged two of the stools from the kitchen, and the one he’s not precariously balanced on is serving as a table for a box of nails and a tape measure.

“What are you doing?” Taecyeon blinks in confusion and peers around. “Is that a painting?” He cocks his head to one side curiously at the obvious rectangular edge poking from inside a torn corner of brown paper, propped against the wall.

“Uh-huh,” Junho bites his bottom lip, peering up at the nail he has successfully lodged into the wall. Taecyeon watches him, wide-eyed, and moves a little closer. He touches his free hand to the small of Junho’s back, and his heart actually skips a beat when Junho turns to look at him and the stool legs shift, just so. 

“Let me do the other one. You come down,” _Before you fall and sprain your other ankle or break your neck_ , Taecyeon doesn’t say.

Junho snorts, but he relents with a roll of his eyes. “It’s been for _ever_ ,” he complains, somehow clambering down off the stool onto his socked feet. Taecyeon releases his breath then, and only then, and leans in for a kiss. If four weeks since the tree incident somehow calculates to equal forever, then yes, Junho is right. But Taecyeon isn’t taking any chances. 

He trades the hammer for the bag of whiskey, and Junho moves aside as Taecyeon wedges a knee atop the stool and hammers the second nail into place. 

“This looks expensive— whoa why did you get two?” Junho gapes at him, appalled. Taecyeon steps off the stool and sets the hammer down, dusting his hands together. 

“One for Wooyoung, one for me.”

Junho rolls his eyes again, and limps away to the kitchen. Taecyeon’s mouth tightens, but he bites his tongue against the chiding remark. He hears his voice in his head, _Junho, where are your crutches?_ It sounds like his mother. He shudders.

Junho returns empty-handed and suddenly pauses a few feet away, eyes going up and down to give Taecyeon a once-over. 

“Mm, I don’t like that shirt,” he rubs under his chin, considering, and Taecyeon looks down at himself. 

“I wore it today—”

“—Yeah but for work,” Junho cuts in with a mildly disgusted curl to his upper lip, and he heaves a dramatic sigh. “Go shower. I’ll find you something else.”

He moves behind Taecyeon and stares up at the two nails in the wall, and Taecyeon must stand there staring at Junho a minute too long, because suddenly there’s a sharp _smack_ just at his lower left butt cheek. Taecyeon gasps, and Junho’s smirk is a slow, devious little thing that spreads on his mouth.

“Go,” he orders with a shooing gesture, and Taecyeon hurries away blinking, confused, and a bit turned on.

 _This is good_ , he thinks, as he strips down and jumps into the shower. Weird, happy, spontaneous Junho is— well, weird— but a definite improvement over crying, silent, sullen Junho after the camping trip. Plus, he's still not all that sure Junho ever forgave him for the kiss in front of all his co-workers. It was rash, Taecyeon knows that. But he took one look at Hwang Chansung sitting there with him and— He shakes his head and turns on the water, washing his hair and getting through a quick scrub down. 

He reminds himself to mop the watery footprints and drip-drops from his hair that his towel doesn’t catch on the way to the bedroom, and makes his way to where clothes are, sure enough, awaiting him on the bed. He purses his lips, unsure how the white button-down and jeans are any better than what he wore to work, but he shrugs and gets dressed anyway.

Junho’s eyes light up when Taecyeon heads into the kitchen. 

“Now you look like a human,” he chuckles, alternating his gaze between Taecyeon and the bag of chips he’s dumping into a large bowl. Taecyeon snorts and rolls up his sleeves. 

“Are these new?” He takes stock of four pristine glasses sitting in an even row atop the island, the cardboard box sitting near Junho’s feet. As an afterthought, he notices everything: the new glasses, the new bowls, the dainty little finger foods Taecyeon _knows_ are store bought, arranged on platters near the chips.

“Yeah, I…” Junho drops off, peering down at the spread. It’s like something straight out of a magazine. “Minjun said they’re getting serious and… I just want to make Wooyoung feel welcome.” 

The volume of his voice dips steadily towards the end of his explanation, and he lowers his face and shrugs. Taecyeon sighs airily and reaches for Junho, who swats him away half-heartedly.

“I forgot how sweet you could be,” Taecyeon chuckles, dropping a kiss against Junho’s cheek once Junho allows him close enough. 

“Ew! Your hair is still wet!” Junho cringes and wipes at whatever water he must feel on his neck, and Taecyeon relishes in his best evil chortle.

“What can I do?”

“So,” Junho perks up and leans forward to pluck a knife free from the block and hands it to Taecyeon, “I read online that oranges go well with whiskey, so cut these— you know I don’t like cutting things— _no_ , not like that!”

“How?” Taecyeon sputters, amused, lifting a hand to lick the juice from the orange he just sliced down the middle. Junho groans and stares at him in absolute despair.

“Wedges, so we can squeeze,” he explains in a near-whine, making a little pinching motion with his fingertips.

_Zing!_

Junho gasps at the sound of the buzzer, his eyes wide. “They’re here!” He stage whispers, peering around the kitchen at everything. Taecyeon bites his lip to stop from laughing in Junho’s face. 

“Go get them. I’ve got this covered,” he jerks his chin at the oranges bobbing around on the island, and Junho wipes his hands on the seat of his pants, taking a deep breath before leaving the room.

Silence ensues, and then the front door opens. Clamor erupts from the living room, the tell tale signs of Junho and Minjun greeting each other: screams. Screams everywhere. Taecyeon huffs out a quick laugh to himself, used to it, and piles all the orange wedges onto a plate and cleans up, toweling off his hands before joining the others.

Junho and Minjun are still screaming, and Wooyoung looks positively spooked. His eyes are wide and his mouth is tight, as he sidesteps the bearhug in front of him to extend his hand to Taecyeon, his expression almost pleading.

“Oh, Taecyeon—” Minjun laughs, just as Taecyeon shakes Wooyoung’s hand. “This is Wooyoung. Wooyoung, Taecyeon.” He introduces them from afar, clutching onto Junho’s arm like a lifeline. Taecyeon notes the nervous tremor in his voice. 

He puts on his best smile, “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Wooyoung says, as if they never have. His gaze flicks away for slightest of moments, and then it returns with a sarcastic glint. “Nice painting.”

Taecyeon furrows his brow and looks in the same direction because _what painting?_ and— 

“Why do I even try,” he mumbles to himself, staring. Dead center on the living room wall for all to see sits a lone painting: a big black cat on a bright red backdrop. 

Wooyoung’s mouth tilts sideways in a sneaky smirk, and he leans in with a lowered voice, “He bought it today, didn’t he?”

Taecyeon turns back to look at him with a grim nod. On the bright side, he thinks he might end up liking Wooyoung more than he thought. 

After a steady flow of good booze and good food, Taecyeon forgets about the painting, and Minjun mellows out enough to let Wooyoung answer their (read: Junho’s) questions by himself. Wooyoung and Minjun have a lot in common— art, music, good wine. It’s the sort of niche thing Minjun’s ex never cared to dive into, concerned so much with his own interests.

“I’m older than I look,” Wooyoung says with a diplomatic edge to his voice, his head tilted at a teasing angle once Junho starts firing away. Junho squints at him, dissatisfied with that. He tops off Wooyoung’s drink, and rests on his elbows. 

“So, do you just sit at home and paint all day? Must be cool.”

Wooyoung chuckles, and he and Minjun share a silent, knowing look that has the corners of Minjun’s eyes fanning with something happy and shy and secret. He hides his own smile in his next sip.

“Eh, not quite. Plus, there are other things I’d rather do at home. All day.” The light overhead catches the whites of his teeth, and Taecyeon snorts. He doesn’t miss the quick whip of Minjun hitting Wooyoung’s thigh under the table.

“Oh,” Junho mumbles, innuendo flown straight over his head. “Are all your friends artists, too?”

“Some of them,” Wooyoung nods, and Taecyeon shoots Minjun an apologetic glance across the way. Minjun gives the barest of head shakes, and leans into his palm, watching Wooyoung talk. 

“I know a few designers and musicians. A lot of my friends like to dabble in whatever they can. Speaking of which…” He lowers his gaze back in Minjun’s direction, and the play of expressions on their faces seems to determine the next set of words to leave Wooyoung’s mouth, “A friend of mine is opening up a club not far from here. It would be great if you guys came out.”

Taecyeon’s eyebrows shoot up, and Junho’s spine straightens a bit. 

“A club?” Junho repeats, and then he peers at Wooyoung carefully. “Like a gay club?”

Minjun snorts some of his drink and his glass tips from his hand, clattering on the island and sending whiskey down the front of his shirt. Wooyoung catches the glass before it can roll onto the floor. 

“Shit,” Minjun mutters, and Taecyeon hops up to grab some paper towels. 

Wooyoung takes them from him and dabs at Minjun’s shirt, a disbelieving grin on his face. Junho stares, mouth open in horror. 

“It’s a dance club,” Wooyoung finally replies, in an easy-going tone Taecyeon appreciates, while Minjun stares, mouth open in shock. Wooyoung shrugs and continues, shooting Junho a quick look. “And everyone is welcome.”

Junho nods slowly, a pained smile on his mouth. He lifts off his stool and touches Minjun lightly on the arm. “Come on, you can have one of my shirts.”

Minjun chuckles in embarrassment. “I’m so clumsy,” he mutters, a shade further than drunk as Junho pulls him up. "Youngie, I'll be back!"

Taecyeon watches nervously as they go off together towards the bedrooms, and waits until they’re out of earshot before turning to meet Wooyoung’s eye. 

“Sorry.”

Wooyoung waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t be.”

Taecyeon takes a deep breath and slides back onto his seat, refilling his whiskey. He made a damn good choice, and the oranges were a great idea. “So,” Taecyeon begins, ready to pose a question of his own. “Do you still hate us?”

Wooyoung snickers, his eyes crinkling. He swallows his sip and shakes his head. “I didn’t hate you guys, so no.” Taecyeon tips the bottle towards Wooyoung, and at Wooyoung’s nod, fills him up. 

“You said I was the needy one,” Taecyeon mentions, feeling a little petty.

Wooyoung cringes and holds up a hand defensively. “I know. Look, I understand what happened with Junho, and I’m sorry.” He touches a hand to his chest, eyes sincere. 

Taecyeon nods, grateful. He has to look away, because it’s been a while since anyone said those words to him about this, as normal as Junho behaves lately but— none of this is normal. He grits his teeth and finishes off his drink. 

“Minjunnie’s been really worried about you two, and he wants to help in any way he can.”

Taecyeon blinks and waits, because it sounds like something is missing. “But?” He prompts, and Wooyoung smiles, inhaling with a quirked brow. 

“ _But_ — you guys married each other. Not him. He can’t work out all of your problems. He’s got his own life to focus on, and I know I sound selfish—”

“You don’t,” Taecyeon cuts in, understanding. 

Wooyoung pauses then, and his mouth folds into an appreciative smile. But Taecyeon is the one who is appreciative, because this, everything Wooyoung is telling him, is the type of dedication Minjun deserves. Like clockwork, Minjun appears from the hallway, Junho in tow. They’ve both changed into t-shirts and sweats.

“Getting a little tipsy over there, huh?” Taecyeon jeers at Minjun, hoping to relieve some of the tension.

Minjun rolls his eyes, rosy-cheeked. “Not everyone can knock ‘em back like you, frat boy,” he remarks with a sassy quirk of his head.

Taecyeon lets his head fall back in a laugh, but he recovers and lifts a finger. “Actually, when you take into account my height, weight, and general metabolism, it makes sense that I’m not as intoxic—”

A hand suddenly clamps over his mouth, and he peers up to find Junho behind him, scowling.

“ _No_ ,” he admonishes, and Taecyeon snorts against his palm. “Ugh!” He rips his hand away and wipes it against Taecyeon’s shoulder.

“Junho says we’re in no shape to drive, and I agree,” Minjun almost slurs, wandering to Wooyoung’s side and settling into the arm that lifts around him. He drops his head against Wooyoung’s shoulder and snuggles, eyes closing and lips drifting into a sleepy, content smile.

“Yeah, of course.” Wooyoung hugs Minjun close to him, sliding off his stool. Taecyeon pops the cap back on the whiskey and slides it across the counter. 

“You guys can hold onto that,” he suggests, smirking. Wooyoung’s eyes light up, and he takes it with a tiny nod. Junho hovers next to Taecyeon uncertainly, all the guilt still radiating from his body like a force field. “Wanna grab some blankets and pillows for the guest room?” Taecyeon asks in a gentle voice, finding Junho’s arm and rubbing. 

The look he receives is sharp, like Junho was somewhere distant. Too many seconds pass before Junho nods and smiles, disappearing down the hall once more. They say their goodnights, and Taecyeon tidies up in the kitchen while the others’ voices play in the background, some laughs intermingled, some yawns.

Taecyeon heaves a heavy sigh once the kitchen island is wiped clean and all the leftovers are in the fridge. He snags his glass and the other bottle of whiskey, and settles down on the couch. He flicks on one lamp just as he hears the guest room door click shut, Junho’s feet across the floorboards. 

“Are you _still_ drinking?” Junho asks, and Taecyeon swings his head around to find Junho coming around one side of the sofa before lowering himself into the spot next to Taecyeon, knees up on the couch and facing him, practically in Taecyeon’s lap. It’s a miracle Taecyeon’s whiskey only sloshes against the inside of the cup.

“It’s good,” Taecyeon offers as an explanation, tipping his glass to Junho’s mouth. Junho cringes and pushes it away with a fingertip. He barely had a sip over dinner, which was probably a good thing, considering a whole glass probably would have knocked him out cold. Junho drops his gaze and reaches out to touch the hem of Taecyeon’s shirt.

“I didn’t want you to drink too much…” he mutters with a shrug, still not meeting Taecyeon’s eyes. 

“I’m fine, really—” Taecyeon starts, but then Junho’s fingers flick apart the unbuttoned hem of his shirt and brush the button on his jeans. His eyes find Taecyeon’s and— 

“Oh,” Taecyeon realizes, and he has to lean over a bit to hurriedly drop his glass on the side table next to the lamp. He moves to stand, a little voice in his mind yelling _bedroom, now!_ , but Junho’s hand at the center of his chest stops him, and he huffs out a breath when his back hits the couch again. 

“What— out here?” Taecyeon whispers, and Junho just stares at him, patronizing. “Our friends are in the next room,” he states obviously, a bit bewildered.

Junho snickers and leans in, his lips a plush, effective mindswipe. “What do you think _they’re_ doing?” His eyebrow arches provocatively, and _yes,_ Taecyeon thinks, _that’s very logical, very—_. 

Junho inches closer, his chest touching Taecyeon’s, his hand rubbing now, over Taecyeon’s sternum. “No biting this time,” he warns, a commanding gleam in his eye.

Taecyeon grins, feigning innocence. “You looked like you enjoyed it.” He lifts a hand to tug at the collar of Junho’s t-shirt, that hickey long since faded. He lowers his head to kiss Junho’s throat. 

“I-I did,” Junho admits breathily, tipping his head back to allow the tip of Taecyeon’s nose to trace the column of his smooth neck. “I just don’t want anyone to see.”

Taecyeon opens his mouth against Junho’s skin, lets his teeth skim and his tongue taste. His mind teeters just on the brink of losing himself entirely as he begins to harden in his jeans, but he’s present enough to challenge Junho’s words. 

“But you don’t mind if they hear?”

“Mm, they won’t hear anything if you stay quiet,” Junho hints, and the hand on Taecyeon's chest strokes, squeezes one pec and trails down. Taecyeon's stomach tightens around a tense breath as Junho's fingers slip further, and a muscle in Taecyeon’s thigh twitches in anticipation before the touch even lands where he wants it. He blinks and his head falls back against the couch when Junho palms his erection through his jeans, slow and firm. His hips arch upwards, his hand feels for Junho's waist and brings him closer.

“Quiet,” Taecyeon swallows, his breaths shaky. “I can be quiet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. As if this guy can do anything quietly. Stay tuned!


	27. Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junho's been drinkin', he's been drinkin'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wish to skip the shameless marathon smut, please find the * symbol. Otherwise, please proceed. Taecyeon is an ass man. You have been warned.

Taecyeon remains perfectly quiet— right up until the moment he’s not. Junho has just dragged his thigh over Taecyeon’s hips when Taecyeon draws in a sudden breath. 

“Jun—”

“Ssh,” Junho cuts in, sliding snug onto Taecyeon’s lap, their bodies flush. His hands slip onto Taecyeon’s shoulders and rub the tense muscles. Taecyeon’s arms fold at the small of his back, urging him even closer. Junho smiles as he leans in for a kiss, slow and sweet. His heart pounds in his chest, and he can’t stop his hips from rocking tiny increments, back and forth against Taecyeon’s. 

Taecyeon’s hands don’t budge from their safe nest at his sides. It drives Junho crazy. He wants them all over him, lower. He huffs against Taecyeon’s lips impatiently, grinding his stiffening cock more firmly into Taecyeon’s stomach while his hands busy themselves undoing Taecyeon’s shirt. 

Each pop of a button sends a ripple of satisfaction through Junho, and he dips down and mouths at Taecyeon’s neck, wrenching one side of Taecyeon’s shirt down onto a shoulder. 

“Mm,” is all Junho can muster, digging the heel of his palm into Taecyeon’s bare chest before resting his hand at the base of the man’s throat. His other skims down the length of Taecyeon's heaving torso, tight abdomen sucking in under Junho's skimming fingertips. Taecyeon grunts, eyes on Junho, compliant as ever. 

But _compliant_ isn’t what Junho wants.

He withdraws from Taecyeon’s mouth, teeth ground hard into his own bottom lip as a particularly sharp spike of pleasure burns low in his belly. Taecyeon watches him almost obsessively, inching forward for a kiss Junho deflects, smirking against Taecyeon’s cheek while his hands busy themselves between both of their bodies. 

“I’ve been thinking about you,” He hums as his hands brush against his own erection, close as they are, and he tugs the button through Taecyeon’s jeans and jerks down the zipper. “All day.” He nips at Taecyeon’s ear on the last word. 

Taecyeon’s head drops back, throat bared so Junho can brush his lips against warm skin. A relieved, shaky sigh escapes Taecyeon’s open mouth when Junho finally frees him. 

That same stuttered breath makes its way into Junho’s lungs. Pre-cum oozes from the tip of Taecyeon’s cock and wets his hand, and just the sight of it makes Junho’s cock ache with want, with need. He makes to get up, and Taecyeon’s hands tighten around his waist. His brows and mouth tighten in protest. 

Junho chuckles softly, gently brushing Taecyeon’s hands from his body and rising, careful not to agitate his tender ankle. Taecyeon seems to understand what’s happening when Junho’s knees hit the floor with a muffled _thud_. He stares down at Junho, eyes bright with arousal and desire and a trace of disbelief; it’s all the motivation Junho needs to keep going. 

He wets his lips, flicking his eyes up at Taecyeon as his hand closes around the hilt of Taecyeon’s cock once again, stroking up and down, grip firm. He moves forward, his free hand ghosting up the length of Taecyeon’s calf, over his knee and the column of one thigh, denim rough beneath his palm. Taecyeon sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, his hips arching upwards into Junho’s hand. 

Junho leans all his weight into the space between Taecyeon’s legs, a muscle bouncing in anticipation under his touch. A thrill runs through Junho’s stomach. It scares him to think about how badly he wants to do this. He moves in until his mouth hovers just over the head of Taecyeon’s cock, and suddenly, fingers find their way into his hair and tug him closer. 

Hot, wet flesh slides over Junho’s lips like a balm, and Junho breathes him in. He swipes his tongue over the tip, and that first taste makes Junho’s eyelids flutter. A sharp breath shoots from Taecyeon’s mouth, and encouraging fingers card through Junho’s hair. 

When his lips close around Taecyeon’s cock and he feels and tastes Taecyeon’s girth filling his mouth, the urgent tug at his scalp— Junho realizes he has no idea what he’s doing. But his own cock leaks into his sweatpants, and he straddles Taecyeon’s ankle and presses himself against Taecyeon’s leg to relieve some of the pressure. 

“Fuck,” he hears Taecyeon curse, his voice a raw whisper. He lets Taecyeon slip from his mouth, stroking him slowly.

“Is it good?” He teases, holding Taecyeon’s gaze as he flicks his tongue against the slit, connected to him by a string of pre-ejaculate in the instant before he guides Taecyeon back into his mouth. Junho takes him a little less than halfway down and then withdraws, swirling his tongue about the crown and going in again, building a rhythm. 

Taecyeon’s only answer is to drop his hand from Junho’s hair and to the nape of his neck and squeeze. Junho moans around Taecyeon at the touch, the commanding grip rendering him still just by the base of his skull. He moans again when Taecyeon begins to move. 

He keeps Junho’s pace, slow and smooth, pushing only a little farther than what Junho can take. The head of Taecyeon’s cock brushes the back of Junho’s tongue and edges dangerously close to his throat, and Junho’s eyes burn. His hands find purchase on Taecyeon’s hard thighs and clamp down. He swallows reflexively when Taecyeon does it again, his lips tighten. It doesn’t take long for Taecyeon’s thrusts to grow uneven and his breathing to dissolve into a mix of heavy groans and scattered curses. 

Junho strokes the length of Taecyeon’s shaft that doesn’t fit into his mouth, arching his hips against Taecyeon’s leg when Taecyeon’s movements stutter and finally still, come thick on Junho’s tongue. Junho groans and swallows what he can, the rest of it spilling onto his lips and jaw when Taecyeon suddenly pulls out of his mouth. 

Taecyeon tugs him up insistently by the back of his neck and shoulder, and Junho crawls back into his lap and seals his mouth over Taecyeon’s once again. Taecyeon’s tongue seems to carve its way into his mouth, hungry, and a hand yanks Junho’s drawstring free. His sweatpants slide down one hip, and Taecyeon’s palm curls tight around Junho’s cock and pulls. 

Junho moans against his mouth, sinking his teeth into Taecyeon’s lip. It’s good— but it’s not quite what he wants. He didn't get himself ready for this to end here, on this sofa. He reaches down in his haze, grabbing Taecyeon’s other wrist and pushing his hand down and back and—

Taecyeon peers sharply up him when his hand curves over Junho’s naked ass inside his sweatpants, a question in his eyes as his fingers dip between round cheeks. Junho shivers when they brush against his opening.

“Mmhm,” he affirms, looking Taecyeon in the eye.

Taecyeon suddenly stands beneath him, and Junho yelps as he’s hoisted up, legs around Taecyeon’s waist and arms about Taecyeon’s neck. Taecyeon sidesteps the coffee table and doesn’t stop until they’re through the bedroom door. He kicks one leg back, and the door slams shut behind them. Junho moans, exhilarated, when he’s deposited atop the bed. 

He leans back on his elbows and marvels because this— this is everything he wanted. Taecyeon hovers above him, kneeling between Junho’s parted legs as he pulls his open shirt from his shoulders and tosses it across the room. His cock is still semi-erect, bouncing obscenely between them as he follows Junho’s backward crawl up toward the pillows, eyes flashing with something wild.

Taecyeon sinks down and they kiss, and Junho uses both his hands and feet to rid Taecyeon of his boxers and jeans. His naked skin is hot through Junho’s clothes, and when he rears up on his haunches for Junho to behold, all messy black hair and tan, muscled flesh, Junho can’t take it anymore. 

He pulls his own t-shirt hem over his head and tosses it. Taecyeon peels his sweatpants away, and they’ve barely cleared his feet before Taecyeon grips him under the knees and pushes his legs up, injured ankle be damned. Junho chokes out a moan, surprised, turned on. 

“What do you want?” Taecyeon asks, his voice rough. Junho bites his lip, swallowing, Taecyeon’s come still strong in his mouth. 

“I don’t know,” he responds honestly. His eyes find Taecyeon’s above him, the room dark but for the city lights outside the window. “What do _you_ want?”

Taecyeon watches him for a long moment, and Junho wonders if he’s thinking or simply _looking_. In the next moment, it doesn’t matter. Taecyeon’s hand pushes at Junho’s hip and his stomach hits the mattress, knocking the wind out of him. He grabs the pillows beneath his head, panting, grinding his erection against the sheet beneath him. 

The drawer slides open and then shuts. Something drops on the bed near his thigh. The bed shifts as Taecyeon’s body nearly covers his, and lips fall on his nape and one shoulder. Junho moans, arching his hips up and back. He feels Taecyeon’s heavy cock drag over one ass cheek, leaving a wet streak on his skin. Taecyeon groans into his neck. 

“Some nights, I’d make you come with just my fingers. I didn’t even need to fuck you,” he whispers, breath hot on Junho’s ear. Junho nearly comes right then. A hand slides down the length of Junho’s side, following the natural contours of his body. “Of course, I’d always fuck you anyway.”

Junho’s never heard such dirty words— not to him, not _about_ him. His whole body seizes up just from the images, and his cock drips against the mattress even as Taecyeon withdraws and leaves his back eerily cold. He lifts his head and peers back over the slope of his shoulder just as Taecyeon suddenly places both hands on Junho’s ass and pushes his cheeks apart.

He drops his head and lets out a quivery moan as he’s spread, exposed. Taecyeon’s stare is weighty there, and Junho clenches around nothing, anticipation and muscle-memory warming his face fever-hot. Because while this all may be new to his mind, his body knows it to the point of craving. Breaths fall on his lower back, and Junho’s hips jerk. The gentle sting of Taecyeon’s teeth trace over his skin, sucking at flesh; his fingertips knead Junho's spread cheeks.

Junho’s own voice breaks out into the air, high, when Taecyeon’s tongue flicks against his hole, firm and wet and sliding into him. Thumbs rest just outside of his opening, and it twitches just from the touch. Taecyeon begins to lick him in earnest— greedy swathes of his tongue around Junho's seam, dipping in mercilessly until Junho is rocking back toward it.

He inhales cotton into his mouth, moaning out breathy, tenor noises he doesn’t have the sense to be embarrassed about. He softens easily under Taecyeon’s tongue, grinding his ass against Taecyeon’s face and his cock against the bed. Taecyeon blows cool air on him and he keens, legs sliding further apart. 

Junho is disoriented when Taecyeon’s slick finger pushes into him, unable to process it until it’s shortly followed by another. Junho cries out, squeezing Taecyeon’s fingers inside him as the full width of Taecyeon’s other palm pushes the small of his back flat to the mattress. 

Taecyeon pumps his fingers in and out without pretense, and the slick pressure constantly grazing against that spot inside leaves Junho reeling. He pushes up until Taecyeon moves his hand from Junho’s back and grips his hip instead, settling his weight on his knees. He deepens the arch in his back and tilts his ass higher. His trembling fingers grip the sheets, he bites his lip as his hips rock back, desperately working himself on Taecyeon’s fingers. 

“There you go,” Taecyeon utters, and that light, indulgent tone pushes Junho over. Those fingers press in hard, twisting right into his prostate, and he moans, toes curling as he comes all over their fitted sheet.

He collapses onto the bed, breathless, and he vaguely feels Taecyeon shift behind him. He hears the swift drag of skin on skin, and he peers over his damp shoulder to see Taecyeon stroking himself, eyes clenched shut just as he loses it— and hot spurts of come land right on Junho’s opening. Junho hums at the feeling, gasps when Taecyeon’s fingers return and push the come inside him and his inner walls clamp down even as Taecyeon drags his fingers out. 

He bites his lip as globules of semen leave his body, pressing his face into the crook of his elbow, spent and overstimulated. Taecyeon caresses his backside, his hip, and finally slumps next to him on his back. The air between them moves when Taecyeon turns to look at him. 

“You’re filthy,” Junho opens his eyes to comment, breath caught at last. His voice is thick and distant behind his pounding pulse. Taecyeon chuckles and leans up onto his forearm, and Junho tips his chin to catch the kiss that drops on his mouth. Taecyeon smirks down at him, mischief sparkling in his eyes.

“You have no idea.”

*

Dream and reality are one and the same as Junho emerges from sleep. Taecyeon’s body is warm against his, arms around him. Two wet, sloppy kisses land when Junho moves the slightest bit away, one to his cheek and the other to the corner of his mouth. But a leaden feeling pulls at Junho’s stomach as his eyes unstick and the room floods with morning light, as the phantom kisses of his dream recede.

He focuses sharply on the wall, chest tight. He tears himself completely away from Taecyeon, who flops back into bed and back to sleep in seconds. Junho pushes the covers back and stands abruptly. His face is hot, and his mouth begins to tremble. 

He was being kissed in his dream, being held, holding. But the person next to him was _not_ Taecyeon.

He jabs a finger at his phone to check the time. It’s five after 7. He sets a hand on his hip and turns to peer over his shoulder towards the bed. Taecyeon sleeps, peaceful. 

Junho makes his way to the bathroom and gets ready for work. After he’s dressed, he finds Minjun in the kitchen, slumped over a cup of coffee at the island. He smiles at Junho from beneath a fluffy fringe. 

“Morning,” Minjun manages, voice a little scratchy. He heaves a big yawn, clearly too hungover to cover his mouth.

Junho snorts and grabs juice from the fridge. 

“Morning.” Minjun’s presence is the distraction he needs, but something gnaws at him, just out of reach. He blinks and shakes his head, turning to find a glass. “Did you two sleep well?”

“Uh-huh,” Minjun hiccups, coughs, and then swallows. “Ugh,” he rubs his fingers into his eyes. “Why did you let me drink so much, Junho?”

Junho rolls his eyes. “Like any of you would listen to me. Are you working today?”

Minjun shakes his head and suddenly groans in instant regret. “Can’t. Move. My head. Ugh,” he takes a huge gulp of coffee. 

Junho eyes the coffee machine. He hadn’t even smelled it brewing this morning. Minjun drops his chin into his palm, peering pitifully over at Junho. 

“Is Taecyeon?”

Junho shrugs. “He should be up now. He’s usually up earlier than me…” he trails off, suddenly thinking of Taecyeon’s tongue on him, in him. He drains his juice. He turns his back to Minjun’s curious expression and pours himself some more. “Is Wooyoung still in bed?”

“Yeah. He’s in pretty bad shape, too.”

Junho chuckles, tipping his juice to Minjun in a sarcastic toast before sipping it. “You guys can crash here today. Taecyeon won’t mind. Tell him I said it’s ok.” He leaves his juice on the counter and scoops his phone up to slide it into his pocket. 

“You’re leaving already?” Minjun pouts, following Junho with his eyes as Junho grabs a piece of fruit and heads towards the living room.

“Yeah,” he calls out once he leaves Minjun alone in the kitchen. He finds his jacket and slips it on. “Tell Taecyeon I had to go in early!”

He doesn’t hear Minjun’s reply. As soon as his shoes are on, he’s out of the door. 

“It’s nice to see you walking again.”

Junho peers up to meet Suzy’s cheery smile as the morning UI scrum meeting wraps up. He shuts his laptop and returns her grin, rising from his chair and following her from the conference room back out to the main office. 

“I think I’ll scream if I ever have to see another pair of crutches again,” he jokes, but the words aren’t far from the truth. He wants to scream. For a different reason entirely.

She chuckles and pauses at her row of cubicles. “I saw your husband in the paper this morning,” She winces, crossing her arms over her stomach. “Think they’ll ever give it a rest?”

Junho frowns. Taecyeon? In the paper? _Again?_ He sighs through his nose, irritated. “I haven’t seen it,” he says, and she nods sympathetically. “Anyway…” he no longer feels like talking. She straightens, perceptive as always, and lifts her hand in a tiny wave and heads back to work. 

Junho sighs, clutching his computer at his side as he bypasses his own desk and makes straight for the break room. He breathes a sigh of relief when he finds it empty, and crosses the room to the water tank like he’s dying of thirst. 

He might be. He doesn’t know. He’s lightheaded and his chest feels heavy. His mouth is dry, and as soon as he takes the first sip, some of that goes away. 

“Hey, Junho.”

 _No_. 

Water dribbles over Junho’s bottom lip and chin, and he reaches up jerkily to catch it. He turns. Chansung’s tall shape fills the doorway, and Junho’s stomach plummets. 

“Oh, Ch-Chansung,” he stutters, forcing a smile. “Hey.” He leans over to get more water, watching the bubbles bloom and gurgle in the blue five gallon tank through wide eyes. A cabinet opens behind him, liquid streams against the side of a mug. The smooth aroma of coffee fills the room, and Junho prays for someone else to walk in. He stands up and finishes off his second cup of water.

“You alright?”

Junho barely looks over his shoulder and nods, Chansung’s face a blur as he swings his head back around to face the wall. He waves a dismissive hand. “I had a bit to drink last night,” he shrugs. 

“Ah,” Chansung utters knowingly, wandering into Junho’s field of vision to the empty counter-space on Junho’s side of the kitchen. He leans back against the counter right next to the microwave, watching Junho over the rim of his mug. Junho feels like he’s shriveling under that stare. _That stare_. He turns around to hide his gasp, chucking his paper cup into the trash. _No, no, no._

A touch lands on his shoulder, heavy-handed and much too familiar. The pad of a thumb circles just so. The heat from Chansung’s body aligns with his back even though they do not touch.

“Junho?”

Junho jerks away, eyes on the floor as he leaves the break room and retreats to his desk. His laptop clatters dangerously when he sets it down, but it’s the last thing on his mind. 

“Junho—”

“ _What?_ ” Junho snaps, fingers curled into fists and eyes clenched shut. A hush falls over the entire office. A horn honks on the street below, a siren crescendos and then dies away. Junho opens his eyes. Doojoon stands in front of his cubicle, mouth dropped open. He clutches a slip of paper in one hand. Junho shakes his head and sighs. “Sorry,” he mutters.

But people are still watching. He swears he hears a couple of whispers. 

“You ok?” Doojoon cocks his head to one side, uncertain. Junho lets out a bitter laugh, taking the paper from Doojoon’s hand. All the words fuse together and make no sense.

“If one more person asks me that, I won’t be.”

Doojoon remains silent at his side, and finally shuffles away. But Junho stills hears his departing mumble: “Fucking crazy…”

 _Yeah,_ Junho thinks. _I am._ He runs his fingers through his hair and drops his elbows on his desk, sighing heavily. He draws in a deep breath and opens his eyes. Everything comes back into focus gradually, and he glances down at the paper Doojoon gave him. It’s the sprint schedule. Work. Work is good. 

He sniffs and opens up his computer, ignoring the eyes he feels on him like needle points and zoning in on his tasks. No one so much as breathes his way for the five remaining hours of the day, even during lunch. At 5:30, Junho packs his computer and locks his cubicle.

He stops in the single stall restroom outside their office suite on his way out of the building. The door is swinging shut behind him when he hears a _thump_. Junho drops his bag on the floor and gapes in shock. Chansung closes the bathroom door at his back and the tiny room is at once suffocating. The lock clicks. Junho stares at his hand on the knob, and he stares at Junho, brows furrowed and mouth a solemn line. His eyes are intent on Junho's face.

“What are you doing?” Junho starts, but Chansung takes several determined steps forward, and suddenly Junho’s mind goes blank, and he simply cannot _think_. Hands register, cupping both sides of his face, and lips close over his own. Chansung makes a miserable, strangled noise against Junho’s mouth. His eyes are wet when he withdraws. 

“You remember,” he breathes, and Junho’s face crumples. Chansung’s eyes flick back and forth between Junho’s, the answer already evident in his devastated gaze. “Don’t you?”

All Junho can do is nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes!


	28. Twenty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junho tries to figure things out.

_I cheated._

Junho’s mind buzzes with the revelation. Chansung withdraws, and for an instant Junho can’t move. Chansung’s breath is warm on his mouth and chin. His eyes, the color of tea, are the only things Junho sees.

The tip of Chansung’s nose brushes Junho’s softly as he comes in again, and Junho snaps out of it.

“Stop,” he pushes Chansung’s hands from his face and takes a step back. There’s distance between them. He’s somewhat appeased when he can no longer make out the different flecks of brown in Chansung’s eyes. He faces the wall with hunched shoulders and mashes the back of his palm against his mouth as if he could wipe the kiss away. 

As if. 

His heart starts to pound in his chest, and the bridge of his nose and his temples are damp with the prickle of sweat. He wrenches his bag from the floor and turns to look at what he’s done:

Chansung’s face is drawn under the sterile white bathroom light, his breathing is so labored his chest heaves beneath his shirt. The desperation shining from his gaze fills in all the holes, answers all the questions lingering in the wake of Junho’s slippery flashback. One of his hands is outstretched as if to grab.

_“Junho,” Chansung’s breath curls under his ear, lips slide over his nape. “I want you.”_

“I didn’t say you could kiss me,” Junho mentions bitterly, blinking quickly and willing the memory gone, gone, _gone_. He wipes roughly at his lips again, has to stop when he catches himself. The word useless flits across his mind. Chansung just watches him, and Junho’s heart sinks, because this is how Chansung has always watched Junho, hungry and unwavering. 

He has to look away.

“You didn’t say I couldn’t,” Chansung counters from over Junho’s shoulder. His voice is so insistent it shakes, but there is no inflection. Junho shuts his eyes. “And you didn’t stop me.”

Junho interrupts with something between a scoff and a pained groan, turning at once for the door. “I’m going, now.” Chansung slides to block his path to the door. 

“Tell me what you remember.”

Junho exhales and stares up at him, impatient, exhausted. “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

“Even if you don’t remember everything, it should be enough to--”

“Chansung, get out of my way,” Junho speaks through gritted teeth, looking him square in the eye. Chansung doesn’t budge. Junho uses his forearm to shove Chansung to the side, yanking the door open. 

“Junho, wait!”

But Junho is no longer listening. His strides to the elevator are long and determined even as he hears Chansung’s hurried steps behind him, and he jabs his finger at the down button once he reaches it. 

“Catch the next one,” he says. Chansung, intent on following Junho inside, stops in his tracks. The elevator opens, and Junho steps inside. Chansung remains at the divide between their office floor and the depths of the elevator cage. The doors slide closed over his regretful scowl.

Junho drives home in silence. He makes no calls, and he plays no music. His mind is ablaze and his stomach is in tatters.  
At the forefront of his thoughts, Chansung’s devious smile skirts across his mouth, and his eyes dance in the low light of the cabin during that weekend trip.

 _What?_ Junho’s mind echoes in Chansung’s flirtatious cadence. _I don’t seem like a cheater?_

And another voice, Junho’s voice, wastes no time in its reply to himself: _Do you?_

He pulls into the parking garage at the home, his hands clenched tight around the wheel. He purses his lips and hopes to God Taecyeon is not home. He takes several deep breaths once he shuts the car off and stares at his hands. The lights catch on the gold ring on his finger. He rips his phone from his pocket and finds all his messages with Chansung, scrolling up, up, with a trembling thumb. When the screen shakes and the texts end abruptly only after a few minutes, Junho's stomach plummets. The oldest one is from April, and Junho remembers sending it, which can only mean one thing.

Every other message had been deleted.

Half an hour passes until he can force himself to move. He turns the key in the apartment lock, sets his jaw, and steps inside. And as he toes off his shoes, it occurs to Junho that it’s nausea he feels— that thick sensation of grime running from his throat to his stomach. He catches the aroma of garlic and sizzling meat, which can only mean one thing. Taecyeon is home. 

He throws his jacket down on the couch and stops, considering the walk to the kitchen. Was this how it felt for his attackers that day? Walking into the courtroom to be sentenced?

He swallows and goes in. 

The sight of Taecyeon’s back causes a tight clench of Junho’s chest, and he can’t begin to describe the emotion that runs through him at the onslaught of familiar things: the broad slope of Taecyeon’s shoulders, the haphazard wrinkles in his t-shirt that spread across the heather grey fabric like tree branches, the repeated scrape of a spatula against the cast-iron skillet.

“You’re home early,” Junho greets first, eager to do something. Talking seems best. Seems normal. Taecyeon turns from the stove with a mildly surprised smile, and Junho lingers near the doorway. 

“There he is,” Taecyeon chuckles, dimple marking one cheek. Junho feels truly sick. “I never left. I made Minjun and Wooyoung a batch of hangover stew when I got up.”

“Did they leave?” Junho moves around to Taecyeon’s side of the island, skimming his fingertips along smooth dark grey stone. Taecyeon snorts and slants Junho a look, stirring blindly at whatever it is he’s cooking.

“Minjun? Mr. Dine-and-Dash? Of course.”

Junho’s frown cracks at that just so, and he leans back against the counter. “I guess that’s Wooyoung’s style too, then. Good for them.”

Taecyeon smiles down fondly as he cooks, and Junho watches him stir for a moment, grip tightening on the edge of the counter, caught in the limbo that is guilt and longing. He bites his lip, considering, and finally walks the few steps that take him directly behind Taecyeon. He winds his arms about Taecyeon’s waist, squeezing. He rests his head between Taecyeon’s shoulder blades and presses himself tight to Taecyeon’s back with a sigh, dying to erase everything.

“It smells good,” he mumbles, tired and angry that, despite not wanting it, he let someone else kiss him. Taecyeon stills for a moment, then his arm moves to turn a dial. The blue flames beneath the skillet diminish slowly and sway, and Taecyeon sets the spatula aside and wipes his hands with a towel. He turns around fully and meets Junho’s gaze.

Arms close about Junho’s back. Lips fall on the side of his face. Junho intakes a shaky breath, and he drops his forehead to Taecyeon’s shoulder, letting his hands slide up Taecyeon’s arms. 

“I hope you’re in the mood for tacos,” Taecyeon breathes against his temple, hugging him tight. Junho squeezes his arms around Taecyeon’s neck, nodding, pulling him closer. 

“Sounds good,” he mumbles, shutting his eyes. Taecyeon kisses his forehead, and he allows himself a tiny smile. “Are you feeling any better?” 

Taecyeon’s chest deflates against his in the wake of a sigh, his breath warm on Junho’s skin. 

“I don’t want to puke my guts up anymore. And the light doesn’t make me want to die… so much.”

Junho tips his head back to look Taecyeon in the eye. He lifts chastising eyebrows.

“What did I tell you?

Taecyeon bites his lip and peers up at the ceiling as if in intense thought. “Don’t… don’t do… _something_ too much. I forgot.” He chuckles mischievously, and Junho just stares up at him, his own smile shrinking steadily despite the way his stomach settles. Some of that tension eating at him recedes.

He doesn’t realize he’s moving until his hands come to cup Taecyeon’s face and pull. Taecyeon dips his head and their lips touch, firm and long. Junho inhales and withdraws. Taecyeon’s eyes are shut and his lips parted. Junho wets his lips and kisses him again, and it’s how a kiss _should_ feel, tingly and light-headed and warm behind his navel.

They finally part with a soft snap and Junho laughs. Taecyeon snorts, rubbing at the small of his back.

“You’re so good to me,” Junho comments, lightly twisting the short strands of Taecyeon’s hair around his fingers. His mind finishes the thought his mouth cannot. _And I don’t deserve you._ Taecyeon tips his head to one side. 

“I’d hope so,” he says, voice warm and content. Junho chuckles and turns, lightly pulling free of Taecyeon’s limbs, but his hand lingers around Taecyeon’s wrist as he draws near the stove to take a peek. It looks good, of course. 

“I’m starving.”

“Me too,” Taecyeon admits, patting his stomach through his t-shirt. “Wanna heat up the tortillas?”

Junho nods and does as requested, counting out enough for them to have seconds or thirds and popping them in the microwave. He undoes some of his shirt buttons and rolls up his sleeves, eying the fridge before making a snap decision. He avoids Taecyeon’s gaze as he takes a chilled beer and screws the cap off. 

Taecyeon gasps obnoxiously, eyes wide. 

“Lee Junho, _drinking_ real alcohol?” He staggers against the counter, the back of his palm against his forehead as if he’ll faint. Junho chucks the bottle cap at him, and he twists out of the way to dodge it. It bounces off the wine chiller and hits the floor with a _clink_.

“Don’t make me turn mean.”

Taecyeon chuckles, dropping the lid on the pot and dusting off his hands.

“I like it when you’re mean to me,” he says, peering at Junho over one shoulder. His eyes are dark, and the medical student in Junho knows exactly what it means, when Taecyeon’s pupils overtake his irises like that.

Junho smirks indifferently, raising his bottle to his lips and taking a languid sip.

“So, all we had in the freezer was that chicken my mom made,” Taecyeon comments, pouring some colorful diced peppers into the skillet. The oil crackles and sizzles with the new addition. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Junho holds his new swig of beer in his mouth, lets the bubbles burn before he swallows. “Nope,” he sighs through his nose and plucks another beer from the fridge, opens it, and sets it to Taecyeon’s side. Taecyeon nods in absent thanks. “You should have told me. I would have come back sooner to help out.”

Taecyeon laughs. “Nah. I’m in the mood for something actually edible tonight.”

Junho gawks at him, and Taecyeon snickers evilly from his little corner at the stove. Junho stalks up behind him, brows raised, alcohol already thrumming through his body. He jabs a finger into Taecyeon’s shoulder, hard.

“If I tell you to kiss my ass, would you take it literally?” He takes a slow sip, smirking victoriously when Taecyeon’s eyes fall on him and the shells of his ears turn bright red. “‘Cause you made out with it last night.” Junho can barely contain his own laugh, and Taecyeon scoffs, turning back to his cooking.

“You weren’t complaining.”

Silence fills the kitchen, and Junho purposely lets it. He sighs and leans against the counter near Taecyeon, where his yet unopened beer has begun to sweat. When moments pass and Taecyeon still doesn’t look at him, Junho relents. 

“I liked it,” he admits, voice low. A muscle in Taecyeon’s jaw shifts, but still, no eye contact. Junho watches him wet his lips.

“...And the rest?” Taecyeon ventures, voice uncertain. 

Junho sighs and sets his half-empty bottle upon the island next to a plate of tortillas. He blinks thoughtfully. He really hadn’t had the time to process what they did. _That fucking memory_ , he curses internally. It blindsided him and left him unable to spare a thought to something that really mattered to him. 

“Can I tell you something stupid?” Junho blurts out, and a part of him wonders if he’s already drunk. Taecyeon peers at him, brows furrowed. Junho takes a deep breath, hesitates, and licks his lips. They taste faintly of beer. “I’ve always wanted… _that_ ,” he gestures vaguely, hoping Taecyeon knows he means all of it, and more. Taecyeon’s hand pauses in its absent stirring, and he just looks on, listening.

Junho lets out a self-deprecating laugh and shakes his head. Images flood his mind like different color swatches in a stained glass window: the boy of his first crush; porn late at night on his laptop screen, two men; Taecyeon, looming above him and shucking his shirt, a vision of angles and sinews. His mother’s face, twisted in disgust.

“I always thought that if it happened— _when_ it happened—” he has to correct himself because who is he kidding, really? “—I’d have to pay money for it. I never thought that—” _it would be with someone who I matter to, and who matters to me._

Taecyeon turns completely, now, something like concern on his face, and Junho has to drop his gaze, exposed as he feels. His skin is cold all of a sudden, and his pores have tightened into goosebumps. He rubs at the nape of his neck. 

“I’m glad that it was with you,” he mutters, still looking at the floor. The words are out, and he has to wince and screw his eyes shut, because he can’t take them back, now. The sudden urge to run into the bedroom and lock the door overwhelms him, but he doesn’t move. It’s quiet, and then Taecyeon finally speaks.

“Dinner’s ready.”

*

Taecyeon deserves the break, Junho thinks, peering at Taecyeon's dozing form in bed the next morning. Junho was almost disappointed when Taecyeon took him aside before bed, all serious and solemn, and all he said was that his boss had placed him on temporary leave. Taecyeon was perplexed, perhaps because he expected yelling, but Junho couldn’t bring himself to say more than a dull “Oh” when the words left Taecyeon’s mouth.

Junho settles at the edge of the bed the next morning and looks over Taecyeon with a sigh. He’s drained. He barely slept. He would kill for a break. He didn’t have any weird dream-flashbacks, but he couldn’t sleep more than a few hours at a time, tossing and turning while Taecyeon slept like the dead next to him. But he plods on regardless. 

Chansung is staring at Junho during the entire regression testing meeting in the main conference room, which Junho manages to avoid. Despite the fact Chansung probably chose the seat directly across from him on purpose. Junho lingers behind to chat with Fei as everyone else files out of the room. 

But when she gets a sudden text and flashes Junho an apologetic smile before rushing away, everything happens too quickly from there. He doesn’t notice Chansung is still in the room until the other man moves quickly to the door and eases it shut. Junho casts a quick look around. They are alone.

He sees Doojoon through the floor-to-ceiling glass encasing them, stopped near the large hallway clock with a few others from the QA team, animated lips speaking words Junho cannot hear from the other side. Doojoon’s eyes flick to his briefly, and Junho tries to remain calm so as not to attract his attention further.

“Junho,” Chansung says, stepping closer. “I’m sorry about kissing y—”

“Sh!” Junho interrupts sharply. Chansung sighs, pursing his lips impatiently. Junho rolls his eyes. 

“It’s fine,” he lies. “Forget about it. I know it was a misunderstanding.” He bows his head and moves around Chansung. Chansung starts to lift his hands, and Junho stops abruptly and flicks his gaze back to Doojoon outside. He’s still there, but not looking.

“Junho just— give me a minute.”

“No. I don’t trust you.”

Chansung laughs then, a hot, menacing sound that gives Junho the sudden feeling that he’s looking at a completely different person. Chansung has the nerve to step closer. His voice is whisper-soft.

“Do you trust yourself?”

Junho stares up at him in shock. “You’re unbelievable.” 

The conference room door opens, then, and they both turn their heads at once. Doojoon is leaning in, his hand on the knob. He stares at Junho for a long moment, and then jerks his chin in Chansung’s direction. 

“Chansung, would you mind helping these guys write some test cases?” The QA team are still outside, the three of them all wearing varying shades of new-hire uncertainty on their faces. Junho drops his gaze to the floor, his cheeks prickling in embarrassment. 

“Yeah, of course.” Chansung’s hand touches Junho’s shoulder, and it takes all of Junho’s self-control not to shrug it off. “I’ll catch you later?”

“Sure,” Junho manages, voice dry, hoping that this— the two of them shut up in a conference room together— looks like absolutely nothing. He waits until Chansung walks away and joins the others before he looks up, but he has to pause. Doojoon lingers in the doorway watching him.

“You look like you could use a drink,” Doojoon remarks with a tiny smirk. “Or maybe a joint.” Junho tosses his head back to laugh. It’s mirthless, and his throat feels raw. 

“Something like that,” he pushes himself away from the table and follows Doojoon back out to their desks. They aren’t friends. They’re barely co-workers. But still, as Doojoon drifts beyond Junho’s cubicle and disappears into his own, Junho feels a tinge of appreciation. He settles at his computer and hesitates just as he starts it back up. Maybe Doojoon was right. A distraction would be nice. 

It’s not until he’s in the underground lot leaving work that evening that he realizes the perfect distraction just might be possible. He pulls his phone from his pocket and finds his texts. 

_When did Wooyoung say that club was opening?_

Taecyeon replies almost instantly, and Junho chuckles out loud. Cute.

_Next week_

Junho chews lightly at his bottom lip, tapping his fingers above his phone keyboard. He slows down once his license plate comes into view near the end of one row of cars. It’s just a club. Just dancing and music. Maybe it would be fun?

_Do you want to go?_

The “…” bubble appears, and Junho snorts. It takes an entire minute before Taecyeon types something.

_Only if you do_

Junho smiles. _I do_ , he types, and then waits. 

_I’ll let Minjun know_

“That was easy,” he mumbles to himself and puts his phone away. He walks the few short steps to his car, one hand rummaging round his laptop bag to fish out his keys, grinning softly to himself as he gets a sudden image of Taecyeon clubbing in all his dorky, awkward glory— “umf—”

And then something hits Junho’s back, solid, like a human body. Arms encircle his middle and the momentum sends him careening into the side of his car. His keys skitter onto the asphalt.

“What the _hell_ —” he grunts and drives an elbow directly into the asshole’s torso, dislodging his attacker from himself. He staggers and turns, balling his fists to go for a punch when he hears a voice he knows. And a face.

“Ow!”

“Chansung?” He sighs in relief at the sight of him, bowled over and clutching his stomach. But then Junho realizes just how annoyed he is. He lunges forward and shoves Chansung in the chest. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Chansung lifts an arm defensively and tries to catch Junho’s wrist in one hand. Junho grits his teeth and has to stop himself from hitting Chansung anymore. He glances around the parking lot. They are alone, more or less.

“I just—” Chansung pants, “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Junho rolls his eyes and flails, exasperated. “You kissed me. You’re sorry. We talked about it.”

Chansung straightens, still catching his breath. A hand stretches out and Junho almost recoils before he notices his keys shining in offering. He snatches them from Chansung, earning a light sniff. 

Chansung brushes at his black leather jacket and shakes his head, and any pain leaves his face as he pushes his fingers through his hair and watches Junho intently. A debonair smirk curves at the corner of his mouth. 

“We didn’t talk about how you kissed me back.”

Junho freezes.

“No I didn’t,” he spits, ready to hit Chansung again. He didn’t. Really. Right?

Chansung’s breathing slows, and he stands there still as stone, staring at Junho, Junho staring at him in the dark of the parking lot. A chill suddenly sweeps between them, and Junho shivers. Chansung shuffles closer, and the sparse amber lights deepen the shadows in his face. 

“You did,” he states simply. His eyes drop from Junho’s and Junho’s mouth tingles under their focused attention. “We need to talk.”

Junho sighs through his nose, dismayed. 

“I don’t want to,” he admits, because a funny feeling is swirling around in the pit of his stomach. “I get it,” he snaps. “I cheated on my husband with you. We’re both terrible people.”

Chansung’s eyes narrow on him, and a brow quirks just so. 

“Junho—” Chansung starts, but Junho just groans in his throat and gives in. 

“Fine.” He turns and unlocks his car. “Let’s talk in the car. I’ll drive you home.”

This is a mistake. Every biological alarm in Junho’s body is going off, but still he drives, and the road races behind them. There is no going back. He comes to a halt outside of Chansung’s apartment building, neither of them having said a word. Junho finally voices the itch at the back of his mind that hasn’t gone away. 

“Was it just once?” 

Chansung turns in the corner of his eye.

“No,” he breathes.

Junho sighs, shutting his eyes for a brief moment. Headlights from oncoming traffic trace over his face and then disappear as the cars go by, and he opens them. He doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Chansung. _Some talk_ , Junho thinks. He inhales a breath to say goodbye. 

“I want to show you something,” Chansung says, something soft and desperate in his voice. His eyes are pleading. “Can you come inside?”

Junho stares at him, thinking. And he doesn’t know why, but he unbuckles his seatbelt. He follows Chansung up the short stone steps through the main entrance. Young people mill about, leaning on walls chipping with paint, staring at Junho as he passes because he’s staring at them, too. 

The two flights of stairs to Chansung’s apartment creak with every step, and rock music plays steadily, muffled behind some door. It’s the first time Junho’s been in here. Taecyeon never wanted him to. Junho snorts quietly to himself. Taecyeon. _Does he already know? Or does he just suspect?_

He pockets his hands as Chansung unlocks the door, peering curiously at everything in the old, derelict building. "This place is a shithole," he remarks. "You can afford better. Why do you live here?"

Chansung smiles. "It has its charms."

Junho sweeps his gaze over his immediate surroundings, finding no charm whatsoever. Nothing is familiar. A part of him hoped…

“Come on in.”

Johnny is prowling in the foyer when they walk inside, and Junho smiles as he steps out of his shoes. He crouches down to scoop him up, kisses his fuzzy face and earns a paw to the neck in response. He chuckles, nearly forgetting why he’s where he is and with whom until he hears the crisp snap of the door shutting behind him.

A palm brushes across his back, and Junho whirls around. Chansung sends him that unreadable look again, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it by the door.

“You’ve got to stop touching me, Chansung. I’m serious.”

Chansung sneers, holding Junho’s eye contact as he leans down to unlace his combat boots. 

“I kiss you once and suddenly I’m a leper?” He chuckles incredulously, then steps forward on bare feet. He stares down his nose into Junho’s eyes. “And don’t pretend to be all innocent when we both know you’re not.”

Junho’s lips thin, and Johnny wriggles in his arms until Junho’s muscles go limp. The cat leaps onto the floor and disappears around a corner with the swish of a tail. Chansung slides into the space directly in front of Junho, and the narrow entryway is suddenly suffocating. Chansung’s body seems bigger, this close. The breaths shake in Junho’s lungs.

“We made love, Junho. Right in this hallway. Up against the wall behind you,” Chansung utters like he's talking about the weather, his eyes never leaving Junho’s. Junho feels the blood drain from his face. 

“Don’t… Don’t say that.”

Chansung moves closer, and Junho takes a step back. “We did— you have no idea how hard it’s been, not being able to touch you. I’ve been dying all this time because you don’t remember.”

Junho shoves him away angrily. 

“Why couldn’t you just hide it? Now you had to tell me, and now I— Oh, god—” he runs a hand through his hair and squeezes at the strands, tears burning in his eyes. He wanders away, into what he discovers is Chansung’s sparsely decorated living room. “Are you trying to ruin my life?”

Chansung sniffs behind him. 

“I get it,” He snaps, and Junho turns to find his face clouded over with disbelief. “It’s ok for me to suffer, but not you. I don’t matter, because I’m not Taecyeon—”

“Don’t say his name.” Junho says through gritted teeth, lifting a finger at Chansung, and Chansung purses his lips.

“That’s selfish of you.”

Junho wrinkles his nose at him. “Selfish of me? You’re the one trying to fucking kiss me every chance you get! _Oh, Junho I miss you! I hate not being able to touch you! I’m suffering!_ ” Junho mocks, and then rears forward and shoves Chansung’s chest again. 

“Get over yourself! I’m not something you can just _have_ —”

“I never said that—”

“Just stop _talking_.” Junho drops the hand he’s raised before Chansung’s face. Chansung just stares at him, wide-eyed and silent. “I’m gonna go home.” Junho sighs. As an afterthought, he steps closer to Chansung, until they are only a breath apart. “You won’t speak a word of this to anyone.” He whispers, and Chansung just stares down at him, his face pale and mouth tight. 

“You’re not the Junho I fell in love with.”

Junho remains expressionless, holding their eye contact. “No,” he sighs, glad that they agree on something. “I’m not.” He’s sick of people wanting to change him, wanting him to change. He licks his lips and tips his chin up in resolve. 

“For once in my life, I have something good. I’m not letting you or anyone else take it away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all so lovely! I do plan to finish this for everyone who is still invested. I am invested too, but life has been tough lately. :( Writing helps. Thank you everyone for your comments, Kudos, and silent lurking! Stay tuned. The end is in sight.


End file.
